In the first few months of dating, we were at a bar and I think some girl had said I don't drink much, and I somehow received that as an invitation to prove her wrong. Who knows, maybe I was trying to impress my now husband, either way, WHO WAS SHE TO SAY I COULDN'T DRINK MUCH?
Several whiskey shots later, the joke was on me. I was ready to take my hoop earrings off and fight a girl that was hitting on my husband before he grabbed me and said it was time to go home. But not before I projectile vomited all over his new car and myself. I don't remember any of this, but apparently I emerged from the car with vomit and hair covering my entire face like a freak show out of a movie. Well, specifically Swamp Thing.
Kudos to him for cleaning me up while I cried and told him I thought I was dying all night only for him to repeatedly inform me that I was not in fact dying, and I just needed a burrito, a gatorade, and some sleep.
Happy Birthday baby, you are a saint.