Dear Vodka,
After much consideration and very little recollection, I have decided to break up with you.
We fell in love about 2 years ago, when a foot of snow was on the ground and my ex boyfriend had just broken up with me a week before Christmas. The liquor store on my street was open and that’s where we met. Remember that winter? It was fun. My fondest memory was when you made me chase a bunch of children and call them “little shits” after they threw snowballs at me.
You were there for me that day, Vodka, and we’ve been a great team ever since. One time you told me to punch a douche bag who was at the bar. That douche deserved it, and we saved an innocent guy from getting punched. Now that I think about it, that guy owed me a shot of you.
Still, I’m sorry–it’s over. Why? Last weekend alone did me in and I didn’t even throw up, end up in a strange bed, cry or drunk text an ex boyfriend (our most common offense, surely).
Don't judge me. You've been here, too.
I did, however, fall off a curb in front of a lot of people, I kissed and gave my number to a man who has “pleasure” tattooed on his neck, I braided a woman’s hair and I managed to eat a dog treat. Yes, a fucking dog treat. On Sunday morning, I woke up topless on my kitchen floor with my phone nestled in between my boobs. That was it for me–I knew we had gone too far.
Perhaps it was just because I tried your new peanut butter and jelly flavor, who knows….but really? A mother fucking dog treat? Seriously? A guy with “pleasure” tattooed on his neck? I can do better than this, Vodka. I am a classier gal than this.
I’ll probably be back, but for now I must bid you adieu.
Yours Truly,
Lauren Ann
tales of a charm city chick 