…and the following ensues: screwdrivers and Mickey D’s for breakfast, Four Christmases with [Kid Sister], umpteen outfit changes before settling on the same jeans/tall boot combo I’ve worn on Thanksgiving Eve (aka Judgment Day) for the past three years, preparty at Casa Karla, multi-olive martinis at Club 609 before heading to Champs for “Cary Randolph Suicide Watch” (the biggest high school reunion this side of Romy and Michele), redemption dance-off on the skank banquet floor next door, and an early morning, pre-turkey-basting ten-miler with CLS, during which I wager I puke at least twice and no more than four times. Anyone care to start a pool?
To go to Champs or to not go to Champs, that is the question. I’m leaning toward not although I’ll probably break down and hang out with all of those people from high school I have no real desire to see (and a few who I would like to see- you know who you are).
