I can’t take tequila.

I can deal with vodka, martell and Jack Daniels, but give me a shot of tequila, and I’m out. Out, like the ’80s fashion.

I found the taste of tequila to be quite unbearable and hugely nauseating. I made a fatal mistake of having this little piece of jackass last time and I was completely wasted in the cab home. Puking up was this close, but vomitting inside the taxi might not be the smartest move. But nothing held me back at home. Suffice to say, as much as the thought of holding my hair up while I was puking is deeply appealing, feel grateful that you’re not around when it happened. Feel really, really grateful.

The next day I stayed home the whole time because my stomach felt like shit and the taste just simply wouldn’t go away. It was just around noon that I made a mental commitment to swear off tequila forever. No, really. No more tequila for eternity.

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