Like every epiphany anyone ever had in life, it all started with a bottle of 1800 tequila.
There it sat: as large as it comes, placed strategically in the middle of the picnic table. There were about 10 of us seated around it, like kids at a park eating watermelon, taking a break from playing tag. Except, instead, we were in our early 20’s and playing a ridiculous drinking game that involved pounding the table and communicating with hand signals. The orchestrator of this game, my friend who shall be known simply as The Village Alcoholic Hell Bent on Bringing Everyone Else Down With Him In His Atrocious Drinking Habits, err.. well we’ll just shorten it to “The VA”, was, as usual, refereeing the events. It is a fast moving game that relies upon reading a hand signal cue from someone else, thus facilitating the propensity for error.
The VA, in his overzealous officiating, would prominently exclaim at someone’s error, the round would end, and he would go on to oversee that the loser take a shot of 1800 as punishment.
Now, it didn’t ALL start with that particular bottle of 1800. It started years before that, when I was 18 years old and discovered tequila shots. Boy, what a novel concept! Eating some salt, drinking some alcohol, and to top it all off, washing it down with a slice of lime as chaser! Boy, wasn’t that fun? So much fun, we took another one. And another. And then 4 more.
And you know what else was fun? Spending the subsequent 4 hours yakking.
After about 5 different instances of indulging in tequila, I realized there was a positive correlation between me drinking it and me spooning with a toilet. So I vowed not to drink it any more. By the time we were playing our picnic table game, it had been almost three and a half years of avoiding tequila, and believe me, taste aversion is real.
So, naturally, I was growing anxious at the thought of messing up the game. Never the most dexterous player, I knew it was only a matter of time. I considered just taking a shot, but the night was young and we had already made a delicious gin bucket drink, in addition to the inevitable beer pong tournament to be played until at least 4am. I was in no position to start taking shots.
As expected, I eventually fumbled a cue. “MOON!” The VA exclaimed, “It was YOU! It’s time!” he grabbed the 1800 and excitedly turned it upside down so the built in shot glass cap could fill itself. I stood up, “VA, I’m not doing this. I’m not.” He laughed, “MOON! Let’s go. Here.”
This was the moment. Half in the bag, and without thinking, I sputtered out one of the most profound thoughts I have conjured to date in my adult life.
“I DON’T FEEL LIKE SPENDING THE NIGHT UPCHUCKING BECAUSE YOU’RE PEER PRESSURING ME, I DON’T HAVE TO TAKE THAT SHOT OF TEQUILA IF I DON’T WANT TO I’M A GROWN ASS WOMAN.”
And that was it. The picnic table was roaring, and VA and I start laughing hysterically. It was true, I didn’t have to take the stupid shot just because my drunk friend willed it. It became a constant running joke, why I did or didn’t do something:
“Oh, Moon, why didn’t you hang out with that guy?” “Because his way of initiating conversation was to text me saying, ‘Hey.’ …Seriously, I’m a grown ass woman.”
“Hey Moon, why did you start drinking martinis?” “Simply put… I’m a grown ass woman and I like the taste.”
I think it gets to a bigger point about having fun, growing up, and dictating our own “rules”. I knew I would have a better time if I didn’t take the shot. I still got drunk, stayed up all night with old friends and carried on with silly games. I didn’t have to go to bed early or throw up like an amateur. I was Grown Ass Woman drunk.