Three pink lemonades. Two Singapore Slings. Two pitchers of the Hef. One Sex on the Beach. Two fresh 21 year olds. And a Karaoke Bar. The recipe for a magnificent celebration of being single, young, and not pregnant.
I woke up in yesterdays clothes, scrapping the taste of fermenting squirrel off my tongue, to a set of pictures commemorating getting far too drunk in public, around microphones, and an extensive list of nostalgic songs from the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, and 90's. Flashes of memory include singing energetic (and crowd pleasing) renditions of both Baby Got Back, and Bohemian Rhapsody with male strangers, the latter of which was a duet with a tall young college student that was fond of pulling me close for prolonged singing into each others eyes, and apparently pelvic thrusted at my leg when I closed my eyes. Leaving the Karaoke bar with my best friend and ...galloping like horses back to her house... to wait for my DD to pick me up.
I didn't puke in the car.
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