I would like to apologize to the Tribe for not posting this phenomenal story on Friday, July 18th. It was a last minute excursion; Stella and I were able to go away to Cape May, NJ, that pushed the release of Harry vs. Tequila to a later date, today. Cape May is a great shore town rich with whaling history, old, immaculately kept Victorian homes, and wide, clean beaches. It was a nice time for Stella and I, a chance to relax before the turbulent, but exciting arrival of little Verde. A little plug here, we would like to thank Zippy, a member of the tribe, and his family for being great hosts and even better company.

So now without further ado, I proudly bring you Harry vs. Tequila (to kill you).

If you have never drank tequila, drank a lot of it, then I suggest you really take this story to heart. Tequila is a very potent liquor, and in my personal experiences if consumed in large quantities can lead to very aggressive, dangerous behavior, bordering on violence and chaos. Harry, a member of the tribe located in the Boston area, can attest to this as you will see.

Harry, his lovely wife, two children, both at impressionable ages, and some neighbors decided to have a barbecue celebrating our great country’s birthday. Harry and his family hosted the July 4th celebration. It was a great afternoon, the grill and the appetizing scents of burgers, hot dogs and spicy chicken permeated throughout the neighborhood, making those not invited wish they were. A volleyball net was set up, friendly games were played, adults talked the adult talk, periodically looking over at their young kids playing with each other, talking the children talk.

Of course, beer was consumed at this July 4th barbecue, and since this tale takes place in the Boston area, of course, Sam Adams, a fine, patriotic beer was the preferred cold, sweating bottle to hold in one’s hands. Now, Harry held more than one beer in his hand, the official count, the one taken by Harry’s wife, rang in at 10 Sam Adams. Sam Adams is the key that opened the door to tequila, other wise known, to those who have abused it and paid the price, to kill you. Harry’s neighbor who also enjoyed the taste of many Sam Adams made the ingenious and now infamous suggestion to drink a shot, one shot of tequila.

“Just one shot.”

Do you know how many times my friends and I have said this, lying to ourselves and each other, setting ourselves up for wild nights, and painful mornings.

Well, the one shot of Tequila turned into TWO BOTTLES. By now it is dark, the children are asleep, tired from the day’s sun and excitement, and Harry and his partner in crime are alone on his deck drifting off into oblivion. Katie, Harry’s better half, was cleaning up from the day’s eating, drinking and playing. While his wife was hard at work, Harry decided, or the tequila decided to start launching empty beer bottles, cherished toys that belonged to his sleeping children, and lawn chairs into the backyards of his neighbors. Katie intervened when the picnic table umbrella was catapulted into the darkness, crashing into their fence. The intervention was done with grace and humor; she should win wife of the year, you will agree at the end of this story.

Harry and his equally inebriated neighbor then decided it would be a great to go swimming in the dark, unmanned, turbulent, rip tide riddled Boston Bay. Katie vaguely overheard this plan as she continued to clean around the backyard and deck. As quick as one shot of tequila takes to swallow down, Harry and Sean, we’ll call him Sean, were gone, on the move, headed towards the Boston Bay for their drunken swim.

At a very impressive pace and route, Harry and Sean made it to the bay before another Katie intervention. The route took them right past the town’s police department. No arrests were made; it’s a miracle. Before she could fire up the family van full of car seats and toys, Katie had to ask her neighbor, Sean’s wife, to look after the slumbering kids. Finally, after the changing of the guard, Katie sped towards the Boston Bay, she parked the family van down by the beach to find Harry and Sean waste deep in the dark waters, wading out farther. Like a mother, not a wife, she yelled at the two grown men to turn around and head back to the beach break. She had to yell again because after TWO BOTTLES of tequila they had the mentality and common sense prowess of two learning challenged fourth graders. Luckily, they listed to their angry mother, and came back to the shore.

Katie noticed Harry was limping towards her, and not putting any weight on his left foot as his wet body fell into the family van. Both Harry and Sean sat, or tried to in the kid’s compact car seats. Fitting really, because that’s where they belonged, under constant adult motherly/wife supervision. It’s not a case of DMS; it’s a case of two tequila-ridden lunatics almost drowning in dangerous waters. Katie is a lifesaver, but not a nurse.

Harry was complaining about his ankle when he poured into his peaceful house. Katie thought he probably twisted it, and told him that all would be well in the morning. Harry complained about his ankle when his wife undressed him. Harry complained about his ankle when he limped around his house naked. While vomiting, periodically swaying back and forth between emotional fits of laughter and crying, Katie was shushing her husband not to wake the kids, and trying to assess his damaged ankle.

Tequila, to kill you, will torture the soul, and stubbornly hold onto the body, the bloodstream, the liver, and kidneys it is making its way through. There is a price, tequila will make you pay; it will bring out demons, and open mental doors that should not be open, especially while completely blotto, dehydrated, cold from a Boston Bay dip, and ten beers deep. It got to the delusional point where Katie could have sworn Harry was speaking Spanish fluently, that the Tequila enabled him to be bilingual. Miraculously, their father’s rants, mad laughter, and dissonant vomiting never woke the kids.

As a matter of fact, during this drunken debacle, throughout these Mexican inspired hallucinations, yours truly, Owen Scott Verde, was brought into the chaos. Harry started blaming me for his predicament.

“F#@kin’ Verde, it’s his fault.”

“Harry, Owen is three hundred miles away, and he did not make you drink TWO BOTTLES of tequila.”, Katie explained. (Thank you Katie for the just exoneration)

When Harry woke the following morning, all the furniture was rearranged in his bedroom, and the floor was lined with large outdoor garbage bags, and garbage cans. Throughout the night, Harry was violently bumping into his bedroom furniture while making the way to the bathroom to vomit, so Katie, wife of the year she is, moved the furniture out of the way, and protected their carpet with garbage bags.

As Harry attempted to put the pieces together from the previous night, pain shot through his ankle and lower leg. He looked down at his ankle, swollen, swollen, swollen some more, and painted bruise.

“Katie!”

Harry had to drive himself to the hospital. Katie went above and beyond the night before; this morning Harry was on his own. Justice. While driving to the hospital, Harry pieced together tidbits of the raucous July 4th celebration. He probably broke his ankle some where near the bay. Harry’s memory kept circling around a steep staircase and a loud thump.

Harry is a true patriot, celebrating July 4th with zest and commitment. Also, he is a culturally tolerant; embracing man, realizing the world is one large village, and paying homage to his Mexican brother’s and sister’s by drinking their tequila, and speaking in Spanish tongues throughout the red, white, and blue night.

Katie is a saint, and should be canonized. Harry will have a soft cast for several weeks, and will be cow towing to his very patient wife. It’s not DMS; it’s common sense.

Tomorrow: The Beast

Resist. Multiply.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008 at 9:16 am and is filed under DMS. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.