Cinco De I’m still gonna drink Irish beer, ok?

Scene: Cinco De Mayo. Manhattan Beach. 12:30am. Enchilada food baby. Guinness food baby. Light breeze. Teens making out under the pier. Big waves.

Coworker: My wife rarely drinks, but when she does drink she drinks like a…. camel… or some shit.

Me: Like a… fish?

Coworker: Well fish don’t drink. Camels drink a lot. That’s why I was trying to think of a thing that drinks a lot so it would be correct. Like something huge, like an elephant.

Me: Don’t compare your wife to an elephant. What about a Woolly Mammoth? Wait, don’t do that either. But I get what you’re saying.

Coworker: I bet ants drink the most in proportion to their size. You know how they can carry like two-hundred-seventy-five-thousand times their weight? I bet they drink that too, and mathematically speaking, they drink more than any of us.

Me: You’re making me do math? But yea, I guess like one drop of Guinness could get an ant wasted. Huh. Cheap date.

Coworker: Yea. Huh. *Stops talking, looks around for the nearest female ant to take back to his hotel.*

Me: Now I want to get an ant drunk.

Coworker: It’s not like you could actually tell the ant was drunk, Mandy.

Me: It would probably walk crooked.

Coworker: What? Ants already walk really rapidly in crazy squiggly lines.

Me: Yea but it would do it a lot slower if it was drunk.

Long pause as we visualize a drunk ant and watch the waves crash to the shore.

Coworker: Waves are the ocean’s breaths.

Me: Yea maybe.

Coworker: I’m deep.

Me: That’s what she said.

Coworker: Ugh, I meant emotionally.

Me: Yep. That’s what she said.

Coworker: STOP. Like, inside of me. I can be deep.

Me: That is still what she said.

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About the Author: Becky