Several years ago, I attended the stag party of a guy named Mike. Held within a VFW hall, a bunch of guys gathered around tables to play cards, drink, and contribute to the groom’s Honeymoon fund. Though I rarely drink today, in those days I was quite the prolific drinker, accomplishing feats of alcoholic prowess unrivaled by any of my competitors.
Best of all, I could hold my liquor with the best of them and often felt terrific the next morning, regardless of the amount or type of beverage that I consumed.
In my entire life, I have never experienced a hangover and have never gotten sick after drinking.
Vomit-free since ’83!
At this particular stag party, someone made a concoction my friend Scott called “the most disgusting drink ever.” My memory of the night is fuzzy, but as I recall, an enormous cup was filled with every type of alcohol imaginable, and it sat at the end of our table for most of the night. Finally, after consuming large amounts of more traditional alcoholic beverages, I downed the concoction, much to the delight of my friends.
In my inebriated state, I remember it being not so bad.
My favorite story from that night was meeting a guy whose name I mistook for Henry in my drunken stupor. I shouted the name “Henry!” so loud and so often that evening that the name apparently stuck. More than a decade after Mike’s stag party, Scott reports that this kid, whose real name still escapes me, is referred to as Henry by most of his friends.
Scott’s wife, Melanie, has even shortened his name to Hank.
She’s given him a nickname for the nickname that I assigned.
A dog was once named after me, and I once gave a student a nickname that this family still uses today, but other than those contenders, I think this is my favorite naming story of all time.
