Look. I know I didn't treat you very well this weekend. I barely slept, I ate the unhealthiest food I could find, and I made you drink profusely both Friday and Saturday nights. I know you don't care for tequila but you have to get over it. I'm sorry. Ok? I'm sorry I made you stay up til five AM Friday night and then made you walk around Ikea for three hours the next day. I'm sorry I made you jump up and down with excitement because we were riding the L JUST LIKE THE PEOPLE DO ON ER. I'm sorry I made you walk around downtown Chicago in the cold and the wind. I'm sorry I made you dance. I'm sorry I made you drive so far. I'm sorry I made you sleep on a tiny sofa. But mostly, body, I'm sorry that you are such a cranky bitch. Why must you punish me? Why?
PS: If you keep it up, I will be purchasing a bottle of tequila on the way home from work. How do you like that?