Tequila, my friends.  (*shudder*  hearing “my friends” makes me think of John McCain in the last debate. I’m sorry if you are now picturing John McCain.  Picture Tequila.)

 It was brought to my attention today, when I called Tequila, “my friend”, that Tequila is in fact no one’s friend.
*whacks self in head with hand*  How could I be so stupid??  Thinking I can befriend Tequila is like confusing sex for love!   And so with Tequila…just because it makes me warm, fuzzy and oh so smiley (and hilarious may i add)–it doesn’t mean we have a friendship.  Here, all this time, I thought we *sniff* ya know…bonded.
There was that time in Philly when I made friends with all the cross-dressers at Woody’s–Helena Handbasket said she’d write!  We walked around in the freezing cold, for hours, and I thought–since Tequila kept me so warm–that, ya know, we were “together”.
Then there’s time we went to the beach together and I almost died of sun poisoning.  I felt so close to Tequila then.
Now that I think of it I probably would never have had sun poisoning if it hadn’t been for Tequila.
There were all those nights that I went to bed with Tequila…and when I got up in the morning Tequila was gone.   I felt nothing but sick, I tell you. Sick.
Then I think of all my hard earned money spent on Tequila.  I shouldn’t have to buy my way into this friendship!  Why doesn’t Tequila ever pay me?  I’ve anted up plenty for Tequila, sometimes even everything in my stomach, but Tequila has neglected to give me my one true desire…a friend.
So, on Friday I am headed out for happy hour with some good office friends.  We’ve been talking about getting some Patron together for a long time and that time has finally come.  The question is, do I continue wooing Tequila with my saucy ways or should I give up?  Will we ever, ever be friends?