Happy Cinco de Mayo everyone! I had planned another article for today, but I realized just in time that today is the day we gringas celebrate Mexico, and so today we will be discussing my favorite thing to come out of Mexico besides mariachis, sombreros, and burritos: Tequila.
There are two types of people in this world. The kind who get kicked in the teeth by Tequila and then run away from him and stay away, and the kind who get kicked in the teeth by Tequila, stand right back up and say, “Kick me again, bitch.” I fall into the second category. Tequila (aka José) was my first love- before Jack, before the Marlboro cowboy, it was José and me.
Ah, such happy times together José and I have had. Now we’ve fought, of course, like all couples tend to do. He beat me up pretty badly one New Years, but boy did I ask for it. And, of course, I came back around in the end, because ours is a story of true love. I have been with José since I was about fifteen. When my parents weren’t home we’d sneak off together. And whenever I fell on hard times in life, José was always there for me, smacking me in the face and telling me to, “Man up, pendeja.”
José and I have an open relationship. Our passion is too intense for an everyday kind of arrangement. Occasionally his rich older brother, Petron, will take me out, but I have never and will never take up with José’s skeezy, no-good cousin Sauza. A girl has standards. And of course there’s Jack and all his cousins and brothers and uncles… And I’ve been seeing my new Russian boyfriend, Smirnoff, a lot lately. But there is always José, and when he takes me in his arms, I can’t breathe and I tingle all over… Oh José.
If only one day, we could buy a nice little hacienda overlooking the beach, where I could write and paint and pass out in the sun, and José could… I don’t know, run guns or deal drugs or both, we could be so happy together. Until that day, we always have Cinco de Mayo (and Uno de Julio and Quattro de Augusto and Thursday and Happy Hour and my birthday and Christmas…).
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