Oh, the Single Life

Rarely do men offer to buy me drinks when I'm at a bar. 


This weekend, my luck took a turn when Mr. Corona-and-Margarita-At-The-Same-Time broke the tension between our side ways glances at one another and asked if he could buy our next round.   

I declined the offer. 

Then I threw up in my mouth. 

Good thing I had fried oysters for dinner.