Ah the Super Bowl–the very personification of America. And it makes you feel so good, so blissfully useless when it’s happening. You drink beer, you eat wings and you revel in the sloth of being a true American. That is, until the next morning, when Monday comes to bite you in the ass.
And as you think to yourself that if Beyoncé can seamlessly and almost undetectably recover from nearly falling at the halftime show, then you, at least can seamlessly and almost undetectably be hungover and still function. Unless, of course, your boss comes to your desk to hover for a bit while feigning pleasantries regarding your weekend that will end up leading to a work request that your post-Super Bowl brain really can’t handle. But what it can handle is accepting you are not Beyoncé–otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in a goddamn office.