The third round of bacon was in the oven, and the eggs were sizzling thanks to Irene. Hangover food. We’d missed the pancakes and waffles, and skillet master Bert Braun was adamant that he wasn’t making another round today. “Should’ve been up and about when they were ready.”
Nobody complained, even if everyone groaned a bit as they moved. The aching pains after a massive rager were like interest on a credit card payment. Knowing the good time upfront and the rough time on the back end hadn’t stopped any of us from partying down, and the discomfort we were all feeling.