Bottoms Up.

"We're here to celebrate her birthday," Robb's mom announced to our waiter. We were at a quaint and authentic Mexican restaurant in the mountains, and I think she was hoping (as I was) that they would bring us a slice of chocolate cake a la mode with many forks.

But that's not so much the tradition, apparently. Instead, he placed before me a brimming shot of Tequila.

Now, please allow me a moment for a sidenote: I have never done a shot of anything before. Feel free to laugh, smile knowingly, nod in agreement, or feign your shock and amazement. I just haven't. The whole loss of control, memory, and feeling in my tongue... it just never appealed to me. But there it was, right before me: an opportunity, a rite of passage, and an audience cheering me on.

Cheers to the Birthday Girl

I'm pretty sure this is the face you're supposed to make.

Oh, and hold a napkin, just in case it comes right back up.


It's a little odd that my three year old is watching so closely as I pound my first shot.

I did it. Sweet victory.

A few moments later, I felt neither sweet nor victorious.

More like dizzy and nauseous.

And maybe a little slurred, although the memory is a little fuzzy.

And here it is, the bottle from whence it came.

Their own brew: 80 proof.

And just like that, I was over the legal limit. No breathalizer for me, thanks.

And no parenting responsibilities, either.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have passed either test with flying colors.

But I did it. There. Check that one off the list.

I must be thirty.