Holiday shots

St. Liam's day

This one was supposed to be for St. Patrick's day, which sorta explains the title. Enjoy! (Please excuse the minor mistakes and the language <3)

“My existance is a sad one!” came a dramatic voice from the front  door.

“Hey, Dezi,” I yelled. “I’m in the kitchen. Do you want something to drink?”

“Rootbeer. Or something harder if you’ve got it.”

“I’ve got a strawberry margarita with your name on it.” I pulled out the ice as she pushed through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“That sounds just about perfect.” She hopped onto the kitchen counter next to me.

I piled ice and frozen strawberries into the antique blender and held up a new bottle of tequila. “Tell me when,” I pour two shots (and not small shots, either) of the dark amber liquid in before I realized that Dezi wasn’t even watching.

As I started to twist the cap back on the bottle, she snatched to bottle out of my hand and poured a healthy amount in the blender before handing me the now lighter bottle.

“I didn’t say when,” She stated as she gave me a peck on the cheek. “Been one of those kinds of days.” she called as she swung off the counter and ran back through the door to the living room.

I added another handful of frozen strawberries to the mix and tapped the pulse button until the mostly frozen concoction was about the consistency of a slush puddle. Then I pulled out two wide rimmed glasses made specifically for these drinks and wandered over to the snack cabinet. “How much salt do you want?” I yelled.

Her voice echoed from upstairs with an “Enough.”

I got out the bottle of lime juice and squeezed some into a large bowl. I mixed a teaspoon of sugar into the cloudy liquid and turned the glasses upside down into the mixture, and then quickly switched them over to the margarita salt and left them to sit.

Dezi was not in my bedroom like I thought she’d be so I searched the entire upstairs area. She was nowhere to be found. “Dezi?” I called.

“I’m in your room.” Her voice was muffled. I crept back to my room, worried about a possible sudden attack from, just about everywhere, but when I stuck my head around the frame, I saw nothing.

I stood in the doorway, still wary, and said, “Okay where are you?” From the far side of my bed, between the wall and the edge of my bed, came her raised hand. I laughed and climbed onto my bed. “How’d you get down there?” I giggled.

“I jumped on your bed  and then, somehow, I ended up on the floor. I think I rolled here. And then I decided I didn’t need to get back up. So here I am!” She sighed and mumbled “Just let me know when drinks are ready.”

“When you’re done smelling my carpet,” I started and then climbed off the bed. I finished with a casually tossed, “drinks are ready.”

I hadn’t taken two steps away from my bed before she shot past me and down the stairs to the kitchen.

She was pouring the strawberry slush into her glass when I made it to the kitchen. I giggled as she started opening and closing the cabinets above her. “What are you looking for, sweetie?”

“We can’t have good margaritas without little umbrellas! Tell me you have little umbrellas.”

I shook my head sadly and she pouted. “Whatever.” She said without a trace of sadness. She swept her glass up to toast me. “This one’s for you. For being awesome and not asking.” She took a sip of her drink and shivered as the alcohol burned down her throat. “Holy shit. This one is going to make me an alcoholic.”