Actually, she only had to picture herself putting a finger down her throat when her mostly liquid wedding feast came gushing up like an uncapped oil well. Christine didn’t need the added humiliation of fellow drivers bearing witness if she couldn’t make the restroom in time.Ĭhampagne going down looks far more attractive than when it comes up.Ĭhristine made herself throw up in the women’s room.
Thank God it was early and no other cars were at the rest stop. Toward the end of the evening, the champagne had gone down like water. Then she wanted to spend the remainder of the day vegged out in front of the TV, eating ice cream, and resting up from the crazy-festive Windy City weekend.Ĭhristine never slept well when she’d been drinking … and Christine had certainly been drinking. Christine had prep work for Monday’s dog and pony show-a final review of the slide deck-plus laundry to do.
In retrospect, Christine should have caught more z’s last night, but she wanted to get home with a chunk of her Sunday afternoon to spare. She was able to glide the ragtop into the first parking spot in front of the facility. She’d just missed the exit ramp for Egg River and figured she needed to get to the shoulder-publically puking on I-90, not the greatest of ways to start the day-but then spotted the blue sign signaling wayside rest and goosed the Miata. Christine jerked the Miata into the right lane, thanking God there was no traffic, no one to piss off.
Being left out of the bridesmaid parade gave Christine more time to visit with old friends, get caught up on their lives, and, especially, to drink champagne … and, more especially, to dance the night away.Ĭhristine now found herself on her early-Sunday-morning trek back to Minneapolis, cruising at seventy miles per hour down I-90 in her white pearl Miata-she had a training seminar to present with her boss and her boss’s boss first thing Monday-when the nausea washed over her. Evidently, when it came to marriage, it’s not necessarily sisters before misters or whatever the female equivalent of bros before hoes was these days.īut it didn’t matter. After all, Christine had dated Brad for nearly half of college-their sophomore and junior years-and she knew Sierra remained a bit touchy on the subject. How could it not be with her old sorority mates? Sure, even though she and Sierra had been besties from back in their AOII days at dear old Ski-U-Mah, Christine hadn’t been selected as one of Sierra’s bridesmaids. It had been a crazy Chicago wedding weekend all right.
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