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The Eve Before Christmas Eve Party

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'Twas the Eve Before Christmas Eve Party, and all through me older brother's house, not a shot glass was empty; man, did I ever get sloshed. I was just twelve years old, plenty wet behind the ears, drinking with my sister-in-law, not used to abundant yuletide cheer.

Never had I ever gotten drunk, but that delirious night was la crème de ma tante. Six shots slugged I remember: here's mud in your eye, cheerio, bottom's-up, bonne sante, mazel tov and down the hatch; but the next thing I recall is waking up in the bath, with my sister-in-law's tugging me out and telling me to go lie on their bed.

All the coats and wraps of the party guests were placed atop the quilt with care, making it mighty uncomfortable for resting my derriere and attempting to sleep off this infernal inebriation. The room spun like a whirling dervish in high gear, making me grasp each side of the mattress, full of fear from never having ever flown this way before.

The dizziness incurred from the mass quantity of alcohol in my gut and all this twirling about, launched the contents of my stomach clear off the bed, onto the floor, like Linda Blair in The Exorcist, only more. Hell, the puke even hit the door, yet the party-goers' outerwear remained unharmed.

After finally passing out and sleeping for who knows how long, I heard my brother's terrible, off-key singing, outside in the hall, leading to the boudoir. "Mikey," he said while trotting into the room; "it's time to get up, you need to move; my friends want to go home."

No sooner had he said that, my warbling sibling slipped and slid in my vomit, careened across the length of his chamber, landing on his tail with a wail of his voice, chastising me; and a thump from his rump alerted yours truly to his cascading on his rear, clear out the other door into the bathroom.

I held me eyes shut tight, nary making a move while faking sleep that night with a snore, betting my brother was extremely sore and gathered I'd be in quite a fix if he knew otherwise. My sister-in-law intervened, telling him not to be mean and grabbed the coats around me. Off they went, closing the door behind them, leaving me there until after the break of day.

Fortunately, me brother had to leave for work before I awoke; but my punishment was not any less: I had to clean up the rancid mess. I clearly remember it didn't smell like roses, making me retch again but this time in the toilet. I swore I'd never drink again.


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