As I’ve mentioned before, Jameson and me are definitely NOT friends. Never have been, never will be. Mind you, that doesn’t stop me from doing shots here and there. Or perhaps taking nips during a cold football game or tailgating. The warmth is worth the nausea in some situations!
Years ago I was out with some college friends. Although I am not on speaking terms with Jameson, many of my guy friends are. We are talking close, close friends. I mean, if it were possible and/or legal to marry a liquor, there would be lots of marriages. A lifetime commitment would not at all be a problem for them.
Anyway, as we were drinking, laughing and partying, my one friend comes over to the group with a large tray of Jameson shots. Never one to turn down a shot, I promptly took one. We downed our shots, and although I wasn’t feeling splendid I managed to suck it down and drain the rest of my beer to end the esophageal burning.
I noticed my boyfriend at the time had not taken his shot. He was attempting to give it back to my friend! THE NERVE. So being the lady I am, I swiftly grab it from his hand, call him a choice word (Starts with a P, Rhymes With Wussy) for not taking his shot and kick back shot #2.
I immediately regretted it. My stomach was NOT having it.
I instantly threw up said shots (and beer) on to the bar. Thankfully, the bartender and most of the other bar patrons did not notice my rejection of the booze. Being the quick thinker that I am, I threw some menus on the “accident” and quickly turned to run away. Unfortunately, the bouncers apparently had eagle eyes and rushed over to “escort me out.” Who knew that vomiting on a bar was not allowed???
All my boyfriend could really do was shake his head at me. We were actually let back into the bar after some negotiation from a friend who had previously worked there. But I was a tad bit embarrassed and made it a point not to drink for the rest of the night…Jameson, that is.
I felt that after the stress I had endured, rum would be ok.
What a traumatizing experience!
Moral of the Story:
Don’t call someone a “Starts with a P, Rhymes with Wussy” for NOT wanting to do a shot of Jameson. Especially if you then proceed to down their shot and throw up all over the place.
And then get kicked out of the bar.
And make your very much not a “Starts with a P, Rhymes with a Wussy” boyfriend leave as well.
Hell. As a woman, don’t call ANYONE a “Starts with a P, Rhymes with a Wussy.”
Especially not your boyfriend.