On the first day of the Bachelorette Cruise, I was so tired from having gotten up at 4 am to go to the airport that I found myself a lounge chair and a patch of shade on the pool deck, sucked down the last of my fruity frou-frou cruise drink, curled up on my side, and fell into a deep sleep. Sometime later, cruise employees became concerned about me and some of the girls in my party group had to let them know that I was just tired, not passed out from too much drinking.
On the second day of the Bachelorette Cruise, I actually did have far too much to drink, staggered around for a while, tried to fall asleep in a window seat outside the club where my party group was dancing, yakked all over the floor, and had to be taken back to my cabin in a wheel chair.
On the third day of the Bachelorette Cruise, I was so violently ill from the activities of the previous evening that I had to be wheeled down to the infirmary to get an injection to make me stop tossing my cookies. Though the doctor I saw agreed with my hypothesis that my condition was due to the debauchery of the night before, I was informed that on the off chance I had something contagious, I needed to stay in my cabin for the remainder of the cruise. Several hours later, feeling better and emboldened by my newly rediscovered ability to digest food, I busted out of my quarentine room and went to see the midnight comedy show with my party group.
I don't think I need anymore qualifications to declare myself the official Bachelorette Cruise Degenerate. Thank you, thank you -- it's great to be a winner.
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