OK, so the NyQuil that I took about an hour ago isn’t doing its job. I’m still experiencing all the things it’s supposed to alleviate. (Everyone knows what they are, so I won’t make a list.) This is not what I expected. It’s such a disappointment.
But worse is that I’m not drunk. I thought I would be at least tipsy from this crap, but no. You see, I don’t drink, so I thought the little bit of alcohol in the one-ounce cap that I threw back like a sailor would knock me on my ass. Or have me dancing on tabletops — if only at home and to collect all the one-dollar bills Taxi promised to tuck into my G-string. But no. Nothing.
Until … all of a sudden, without warning or fanfare … my stuffiness cleared up. My throat no longer felt scratchy. And my voice returned almost to its normal bell-like clarity! There was — and is! — hope!
So if there’s hope for the allevation of my symptoms, then maybe drunkenness isn’t far behind. I’m going out now to prepare. Here’s to hoping that tomorrow morning finds me slumped heavily in a darkened alcove somewhere on Broadway, the NyQuil bottle in a wrinkled brown paper bag, my face rough with a five, seven, and eleven o’clock shadow, and my feet shoved into floppy clown shoes. Slurring my words, but without sniffling!
It’s good to have hope.
P.S. Just moments after “publishing” this entry, my sniffles returned, so I just drank the rest of the bottle of NyQuil. Is that bad?