Hwhiskey

Hey nerds,

Here's another Elmhurst adventure from Thanksgiving for you:

My friends Annie, Abby, and I were at a bar in the ‘hurst, and it was getting pretty late. We were about 30 minutes from closing time, and we had struck up a conversation with three gentlemen. Turns out they were three years our senior. They were talking a big game, and were trying to talk us into taking shots (AKA shaking tots). They asked what we wanted shots of, but for some reason I have the hardest time choosing drinks when someone else is buying. Actually, I’m sure that’s not an uncommon problem. But anyway. So these bros were all like, oh ok, then how bout whiskey? And I was like, ok perfect. I love whiskey. James (that was his name) was shocked, to say the least, and proceeded to dub me as a “keeper” for liking whiskey. I was oddly flattered.

The shots are poured, and I take mine like a champ. Drink it in, it always goes down smooth. Guy-whose-name-I-forgot winced like a 15-year-old girl. Naturally, I called him out on it and made fun of him. He then proceeded to claim that I’d be "on the floor" in 10 minutes. Does he even know me? Don’t answer that. Then, get this, he ended up actin’ a foo’ in 10 minutes while I was still playing it cool. RHYMES. Somehow I’m not surprised. Then they called their other friend over to meet us, and ended up wandering away. They must have been embarrassed/intimidated by their lack of drinking skillz and my occasional tank-like tendency. But really, don’t be impressed. Cause sometimes I’m almost, ALMOST, hung over after having two beers the previous night. Can I chalk that up to old people problems yet? Don’t answer that either.

Peace out, girl scout.