The Tequila Lesson

In Summary;

• It quickly drove her into nuts; that state of losing the mind. Watching helplessly, shaken, my hand trembling, so was the glass with my shot still on hold. She asked for another and another of the tequila shot, and there they were, in gallops! In fear of what would happen next, I stopped her taking the fourth. At this time, moment and place, her manners turned black and would sound fierce if they landed on the ears of the saved – in – Christ on – lookers and passers – by...

It was on Friday, members’ day. A day that nearly every man tries to fit into the gentleman’s suit. Was I to be left behind? You got it right. Since it was end – month and my wallet was causing discomfort while seating, I decided to flaunt my pride to a classy favourite spot in Nakuru. It is here where my mess became massive.

I scrolled through my phone touched to call, a friend, a lady whom for a long time, had been telling me how her Friday nights were deemed complete rocketing from one classy spot to the other and so, I thought it was my turn to show off my exorbitant choice of a drinking spot. This was to be followed by illustrations on my prowess in picking and taking classy drinks.

The day, the lady and my ego could not allow me to go for anything less than shots of Tequila. Did I even know how the name is pronounced let alone how it is written? All these questions were answered by the lounge attendant at the counter, whom I whispered to in order to make a detailed inquiry of the hell on earth order I was making.

Two glasses loaded with shots, confirmed my doubts that, Tequila was really a type of an alcoholic type of beverage. This was followed by pieces of lemon and salt. At this moment, I felt like it was a trap or there was a confusion in what I had asked for. Let me who at least knew how it looked like but did not know the significance of the lemon and salt, the lady had never heard of it. She asked what Tequila was. My flimsy explanations could not quench the thirst of her questions.

Many questions had already run my tiny brain blank and so, the all – knowing me was at it again. I smeared some salt on the lemon to reduce its sourness – as we used to do back in our village to unripe mangoes, to taste. She did exactly what I had done. With her face value knowledge about shots, she flashed hers. I was flabbergasted! I thought ladies took it slow and were gentle on hard-core drinks than men, but oops! Not in this case.

It quickly drove her into nuts; that state of losing the mind. Watching helplessly, shaken, my hand trembling, so was the glass with my shot still on hold. She asked for another and another of the tequila shot, and there they were, in gallops! In fear of what would happen next, I stopped her taking the fourth. At this time, moment and place, her manners turned black and would sound fierce if they landed on the ears of the saved – in – Christ on – lookers and passers – by.

Holding a reckless lady in the wee hours of the night, in town seem like a one – sided tag of war. The scenes would be likened to manhandling. I prayed that the heavens would salvage me from this hell of a mess. I called my cab man, who saved the day from the always sharp claws of the media that would make a fusspot out of the small ugly scene that had run out of my hands. We both learnt, but who learnt the hard way? – Me? Or Her?


By Arens Bosire