I know this isn’t really a holiday in your honor, but you are how I chose to honor this holiday. Technically, I use you to celebrate a lot of holidays. Viva you.
I mean, what’s not to celebrate about you? Remember that time Drew and I convinced Mom to do a couple of shots of you at that bar in Grand Central? Then she howled a little and proceeded to lick the entire bar? (And by bar, I don’t mean the long wooden architectural detail. I mean the entire population of the bar.) That was a good time, Tequila. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Oh and what about that time I had one too many of your frothy elixirs of the gods a.k.a. margaritas, and poor Rocco kept asking us to keep it down a little. At your prodding, I started pointing at random people in the bar and shouting, “That bitch can’t hear me. That bitch can’t hear me.” You practically jumped out of the glass and gave me a high five. Rocco still holds a bit of a grudge against you for that night, Tequila. But don’t worry, he could never hate you as much as he already hates vodka.
Weren’t you also there when Gwen traded shirts with sailors during Fleet Week and that time Thom dry humped an angry biker? You’ve helped so many people, Tequila. You really should have your very own holiday. Then again, maybe Tequila Day should be like Earth Day – something we celebrate EVERY day. I like the sound of that.
I’d like to apologize on behalf of human kind for that whole Tila Tequila thing. She’s kind of the equivalent of our worm. Let’s just call her payback for those miserable Pepe Lopez / Aristocrat hangovers in college. I don’t know why we didn’t just plunk some straws in a bottle of rubbing alcohol rather than drink that stuff. Wait, that really was miserable. And all your fault. Fuck you, Tequila. Take all that nice stuff I said back. I hope Tila gives you a raging case of crotch rot.
Damn, Tequila. I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what got into me. Between this raging bout of PMS and knowing my melted blender is going to prohibit me from making frozen ‘ritas for lunch, I’m a bit short tempered. I know, I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you, Tequila. After all, that’s what husbands are for. Please forgive me, Tequila.
Whadya say we just let bygones be bygones and spend the day together. Who needs a blender, anyway? I always liked you just fine on the rocks. I’ll get some tape and a sharpie and we’ll rename that Kleen Karafe a ‘Rita Receptacle. Then we two can saunter down to the pier and enjoy this beautiful day together – your day. Happy Cinco de Mayo, Tequila.
Your truly (unless I’m in the mood for wine, beer, or vodka),