Tequila. This drink is like a kitchen trash bag – you either love it or hate it, but you never say,
“Eh, whatever, tequila will do.”
I’m pretty sure everyone has at least one story where tequila took the night and tossed it into
chaos, like a mosquito draining that last drop of blood. I’ve got one too, but first, let’s dive into
a little tequila history!
We all know tequila comes from Mexico – the place where they can turn even a cactus into a
party. Tequila is made by fermenting and distilling the sugar-rich heart of the blue agave
plant. It typically packs an alcohol content of about 38-40%, but for the hardcore fans, it can
go up to 55% – enough to guarantee a faceplant.
The Aztecs believed that tequila was a gift from the gods. (Of course, the gods never woke
up hungover next to a random dog.) According to legend, a lightning bolt split an agave plant
in half, heating its insides and leaving behind a sweet, milky, alcoholic liquid that later
fermented. The Spanish then distilled this liquid – and tequila was born. So, next time you
take a shot, remember: you’re drinking liquid lightning!
Sometime in the early 2000s, when most of my friends had outgrown their “party boy”
haircuts and wild partying days, our nights were more about laid-back drinking and nostalgic
stories – with the occasional visit to a “discreet” strip club.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning in a stranger’s house with a
giant dog breathing in my face. Underneath the blanket (which someone kindly covered me
with), I found I was wearing nothing but my underwear. I was a bit nervous about the dog, but
he just sat there, keeping a watchful eye on me as if he knew what I’d done last night better
than I did.
I tried to remember the night, but my brain had decided to play the blackout game. I
remembered starting at a bar called Marilyn, where we debated the world’s most crucial bar
question: WHAT SHOULD WE DRINK?
I wanted a cold beer and a good lap dance, but someone must’ve said, “LET’S DO
TEQUILA!” And that’s where the night goes dark…
The dog stood next to me, like a four-legged guardian of my shame. I heard voices behind a
closed door – women talking. With no other choice, I wrapped the blanket around me like a
superhero cape soaked in tequila and cautiously approached the door.
As I stepped out into a tastefully decorated kitchen, I froze. There stood Zita – my former big
love, looking at me like she’d been sent by the gods to make me regret every shot of tequila
I’d ever had.
“I washed your clothes because you threw up on everything,” Zita said, laughing.
Then she started to explain. She was working as a bartender, and as luck would have it, we
stumbled into her bar that night. My friends had ditched me after I completely knocked myself
out with tequila, so Zita had no choice but to take me home since I was beyond
communication.
When my clothes finally finished drying, I slipped away, and we never saw each other again.
Ever since that day, whenever I hear someone say, “LET’S DO TEQUILA!” I know to stop at
two rounds – max.
See how sneaky tequila can be?
Leave a Reply