Chapter SixteenThe morning sunshine blazes through the guest room window like it’s sole purpose is to set both the room and my hangover on fire. Despite my one night stand with Tito’s, I’ve seemed to be spared from the worst of vodka’s wrath, my head registering only mildly foggy, and stomach queasy but stable. My overall condition assessed as delicate. I’m guessing my late night attack on the stromboli helped subdue what could have been a miserable wake up.
The house is quiet, the rest of the girls likely still snoring away, grasping every last second of their child-free furlough. The clock says 6:42am, and every cell in my biological composition is screaming for pork roll, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel. Sleeping is virtually impossible while hungry, the mosh pit inside my stoma
