TEQUILA HAPPENS

Blah. Seriously.  Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Last night my youngest and I were invited to an impromptu 21st birthday party.  Parent and now-legal child called up, and the following intellectual conversation happened.

THEY:  "We're at the Mexican restaurant."

ME:  "I haven't even showered from being at the beach."

THEY:  "You always have an excuse."

So I washed my hair quickly, threw some mousse in it, sort of wiped off the salt and sunscreen, reapplied deodorant, peeled off the dryish bathing suit, threw on some party clothes, and walked through the pea-soup humidity 1/4 mile to Casa Blanca. 

By the time I arrived, my fantastic look had begun wilting, my youngest had been summoned on his commute from work, and we all set about celebrating #21. Well, almost all of us.  My youngest isn't 21 ... yet.  So he became the voice of reason.

I can hold a drink or two.  In my younger days I could hold three or four or five.  But tequila happens, and when it happens, it happens and lingers.

Parent of Birthday Boy ordered my El Presidente margarita made with Don Julio tequila, a fine tequila by any standard, and, being someone who is more of a gin connoisseur, I mistakenly figured my Jose Cuervo experiences had prepared me for said margarita.  By the time we were ready for El Presidente margarita #2, Parent of Birthday Boy decided to switch to Patron, the current buzz-word in the world of tequila.

In my limited experience, people claim that Tanqueray is the King of Gin, but I think it tastes like toilet water and smells like Pine Sol.  Before I jumped onto the Patron wagon, I asked the Mexican bartender which tequila was best.  He grabbed the bottle of Milagro Silver and poured.

Before I tell the rest of the story, as best as I can recall it, I would like to say that the reviews for Milagro Silver are in Spanish, and that tells me that their own countrymen are onto something very important.  Now, for the rest of the story, I would just like to say a few things:

When I woke up at 4:30 in the morning, I had a cold washcloth on my forehead.  I was still wearing last night's slip and a tank top (which I had not worn to the bar -- I wore a nice blouse).  Air conditioners were still blasting all over the house. A fan had been left on pointing to where I usually sit at my computer.  Lights were on.  When I finally found my phone in my purse, the first thing on it was a picture of the 21 year old smiling broadly and proudly underneath a huge decorative sombrero.

By the way, Milagro means "miracle," and I do believe now that it is a miracle anyone can see straight after drinking that stuff.  Smoothest damn alcohol I have ever attempted to drink, and, if I ever fully recover my senses (notice this posting did NOT happen at 4:30 as scheduled), I might consider sipping it again ... just not in the near future.

Tequila happens, mis amigos, but I assure you, it will not be happening again for a long, long time.