Last night, I went out for happy hour with my work ladies. It was a very important week for a few in the group, as two of them are moving on to bigger and better things.
I had not planned to stay late, but at 7pm I decided that it would be nice to toast one of them with a round of shots. As I do not drink shots, or know what they are called, I asked Shira to order them for me. I said, “Psst, Shira, can you order the girliest shot you can think of?”
Shira did exactly what I asked her to do. The shots were sweet and pink. I’m also pretty sure they were made of bulimia. Now that’s “girlie”.
Within five minutes of downing the bulimia shot I had unbearable heart burn. Five minutes after that, the pukefest began. I made Vick drive me home as quickly as possible and had him pull over a few times along the way. Beautiful. I know I was worried that beer would keep me from fitting into my pants, but this wasn’t the solution I had anticipated.
Mind you, I only had 2 beers between 5:15 and 7pm. This was not my body purging my system because of over-intoxication. This was a bodily rebellion against froofy drinks.
It occurs to me that this has happened to me once before. I had a single Mai Tai at a different restaurant, and my stomach turned inside-out. Perhaps I am allergic or hypersensitive to a preservative in some sour mixes. That is Dr. Vick’s hypothesis, at least.
Which leads me the solution: I will stick to beer. Beer is safe. Beer is my friend.
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