Choose your poison

Last night we went to a party in Texas. Yes, of course we do live in Texas, but when we walked into our neighbor's house, the Country and Western was blaring, and they were drinking Bud Lite and doing tequila shots, things that never happen in my house. We tend to drink red wine and occasionally cosmopolitans, and haven't listened to the C&W since we left A&M (where it was practically a required course).

We snuck over after the kids were in bed, with the baby monitor in tow. It was great to go out and not need a babysitter, and not worry about driving home. When we arrived, everyone was already happy and very friendly. The wife was dancing by herself to Clint Black, and she welcomed us like we were their best friends.

Our neighbors have a 22 year old daughter, and she was actually throwing the party for her friend's birthday. Our neighbors invited us so they could have some friends there, too. "We feel so old around these kids!" they said. They made us feel old, too. I had forgotten how party means something different when you're in your early 20s.

There were actually guys wearing shirts with pearl snaps and girls with big belt buckles (not from FFA, but with cheeky words on them). Then 4 Columbians came in, and they were dressed up - the girls in spaghetti strap blouses and high heels, and the guys in collared shirts and tight jeans. They brought Cristal Aguadiente, and I found out there is yet another country that makes a licorice liquor. This one was not as sweet as Sambuca but quite strong. Well, I'm trusting Anthony on that analysis -- I would not put something as repugnant as liquorice liquor in my mouth.

Pretty soon my neighbor was egging me on to do a tequila shot. She was hanging onto my shoulder, whispering persuasively and drunkenly in my ear. I could feel her breath on my neck. "Come on, Jennifer," she breathed, "You're behind! You need a shot. Come on..." It was like a little devil on my shoulder. Finally, I said I would do half a shot. The devil pulled away and there were mascara smudges on my shirt.

Something about the smell of straight tequila makes my nosehairs curl. It also makes people drunk very fast. I managed to fool all those people with my little half shot of tequila. I brought it to my lips and tasted it, but I didn't shoot it. A few minutes later they were pouring then next round, and totally believed me when I said I'd already been given a refill. No one noticed the second faux shot, either. Not a bad decision, as the wife walked into the fence a few moments later and had to be carried into the bedroom by the husband.

We decided to head home about 1 am. Mr. Pearl Snaps saw us heading out and came stumbling toward the door with a bottle of Crown Royal. "You guys..." he slurred, "Can't go... back (he gestured toward the kitchen)... found this (showed us the bottle)..." No thanks, as Anthony said, we learned our limits years ago.