There is something about mimosas that make me bat shit crazy and considering that on a sober day I wake up pretty fucking unhinged, the situation post-mimosas can get truly intense. Bring up memories of people and things, and I’m a hot drunk mess on the mimosa memory highway. Put a cell phone in the mix and the situation gets real weird, real fast. Consider yourself lucky if you don’t hear from me because it’s guaranteed to be annoying, incomprehensible, or both. And that’s the best-case scenario. Worst case scenario, I’ve crashed my bike for the third time and am crying under an overpass. That shit makes bums look normal.
Music is the worst trigger. Play me some Christian hardcore after some bottomless mimosa action and next thing you know I’m rolling around on the floor crying and talking about the good old days. As if back in those days I wasn’t rolling around on the floor crying too.
The bottom line is that mimosas should not be served to the mentally unstable and I should therefore never be allowed to consume them.