I’m not an observing Catholic, but I do like the concept of Lent. One gives up a vice for forty days in repentance, and therefore cleanses the soul. Hopefully, after the forty days is over, you don’t return back to your vice, you move on from it. You change the way you live your life. You become that much more the person you wish to be. That’s why this year I’ve decided to give up tequila.
Any lesbian will tell you, that tequila nights often end with things you wish you hadn’t said and people you hadn’t done. An added bonus, according to my mother, is that a tequila drought may help me not be so slutty. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.
But giving up tequila for a lesbian is like giving up snacks for a pothead. Tequila fuels us. It takes away our inhibitions and replaces them with a warm fuzzy feeling that often leads to group nudity (at least in my circle of friends). But I’ve chosen to give up this particular type of crunk juice, because despite my desire to get as many hot girls naked as I can, tequila has just been getting me into too much trouble.
I recently took a lady friend out to dinner. We sat at the restaurant bar (which is not indicative of any kind of lifestyle. We were eating too…) and sipped our overpriced cocktails. All was going well. My date, an ex-girlfriend who tends to get smashed and yell at me, seemed to actually have a handle on her liquor. She hadn’t even called me a whore yet. Why do I still hang out with her? What can I say, I love the crazy.
But that’s when it happened. I’ll admit, I’ve had a few indiscretions in life. Unfortunately one of them happened to be sauntering up to my date and I, and she looked like I’d killed her cat. Instinctively, I chose to order three shots of my beloved Mexican pimp, Mr. Cuervo. I was sure he would save the day. I was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. The second I had that burn in my throat and the settling in my stomach I knew I would do something stupid.
“Hey! You!” This was my way of introducing the Indiscretion to my date. The Indiscretion pointed her finger at me and slurred at my date, “Just so you know, she won’t call you back.”
I took the second shot of Cuervo. This situation wasn’t getting any better. I saw the crazy start flaring up in my ex-girlfriend’s eyes. The way she was looking at me, I didn’t know if I should duck or just flat out run. Sadly, I’d reached the point of intoxication where your motor skills give out, and I resolved to lean against the bar for support. It was at this point that I also chose to take the third shot of Cuervo.
From what I can deduce from the aftermath the next day, the Indiscretion took it upon herself to describe to my date exactly how she knew me. This angered my ex-girlfriend/date. A lot. And if it hadn’t been for that last shot of tequila I would have been able to intercept the Indiscretion. I’d have been able to swing the conversation into less offensive territory. Hell, I’d have been able to at least dip out and avoid mass amounts of slapping (thank God my ex happens to have skinny, ineffectual wrists that don’t do too much damage).
Either way, I’ve had enough! This is only one example of many in which tequila had ruined my night. So, for forty days, I will no longer be put in these situations. I’m breaking away from my pimp, Mr. Cuervo. I’m going to be working the streets with a new boss. Hello, Mr. Tanqueray!
Sarah Wilson is a Theatre performance major at Virginia Commonwealth University. She enjoys candle-lit dinners and long walks on the beach. Unfortunately, Richmond offers neither.
“Somehow I learned that I belonged with my people and that I had a responsibility to contribute to them.”October 20, 2015
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