Tekilla

Last night I bowled for the first time in god knows how long. And I wore a tiara and feather boa. And I drank tequila. Oh, god, how I drank tequila.

And tequila makes me do evil things (like bowl in a tiara and a feather boa and smoke cigarettes and throw the ball between my legs with both hands and make the devil’s sign with both hands and go ‘Whoooooo! Taaaake that!’ to really no one in particular).

But the worst thing it does is make me drink more tequila and shout ‘Mine!’ every time someone asks, ‘Whose beer is this?’, even when the beer is clearly NOT mine, and both my hands are presently holding other cups of beer that are also clearly NOT mine, and then hold the third cup in my teeth and lift my beer laden hands into the air and shout ‘Whoooooo! In your faaaaace!’ to really no one in particular.

But the worst worst thing it does is remind me what it feels like to be happy and without a care in the world, with no responsibilities or expectations, no deadlines or disappointments, no costs or consequences. And for that, tequila, I hate you, because on Friday morning I have to go to work, while YOU get to ease someone else’s reality.

(We’re still on for next Thursday, though, right?)