I think most of us had the same reaction when we saw the trailer for the latest installment of The Hangover: please stop. That was also the message I shared with Gabe, as he screamed and banged on doors while I cried and vomited my way through latest installment of My Hangover.
I caught a glimpse of a disheveled, possibly-homeless, man in the bathroom mirror that day. I recognized those eyes. I’d seen this fellow years earlier, but he’d since gained weight, and looked much older. There was a child yelling through the bathroom door, as though he couldn’t tell this man had been drinking craft beer until 2AM that morning. The broken man in the mirror believed the child was being a bit of an asshole. Where are this kid’s parents, he thought.
I immediately started thinking of ways to help this poor bastard get back on his feet. I would start with a razor. From there we would sit down and come up with a comprehensive diet and exercise plan. Something told me this guy had recently gorged himself on skillet queso and cajun pasta at Chili’s. It was palpable, really. You could almost taste it.
This was turning out to be a bigger job than I intended, so I thought it best to take a nap before we got started. When I woke up, that sad sack was nowhere to be found. Just the child who seemed so inconsolable earlier, happily playing with his mother, who I know had a lot of studying she should have been doing instead. She must have taken it upon herself to get rid of that smelly freeloader while I was sleeping. And now here she was looking after our son. What a great girl. I decided to let her get back to work and gave Gabe a bath.
After I cleaned him up, I sat back and watched Gabe play in the tub for a while. He was having the time of his life when things seemed to change suddenly. Without warning, it was almost as though he’d played too hard.
He shit in the bathtub and looked at me with a blank expression.
I recognized those eyes.