changes. You suddenly gain a perspective you’ve never had before.
With enough booze in our systems to make a sailor cry, we decided
to trapeze around downtown Cabo. Upon asking Zach if there was
anywhere we could find those cheesy spectacle drinks and after him
asking several locals in Spanish (I really wish I paid more attention
in my Spanish college courses instead of only trying to learn cuss
words), we were directed to an outside bar. As we approached, the
friendly bartender, an older gentleman asked us what we’d like to
drink. Zach reiterated my need for a ridiculous spectacle tourist drink.
He nods and seconds later, presents me with the biggest damn
mango margarita I’ve ever seen. Impressed, we plop down at the
bar. As I take my I don’t know how many tequila shots I’ve had of the
night, something caught my eye. I glanced up again and had to do
a double take. The entire ceiling was covered with the panties and
bras of drunk and Spring Break girls past. My reaction must have
been pretty obvious because the bartender catches my eye and
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slides a small box of pushpins towards me. “Your turn,” he says with
a mischievous smile. “I don’t wear underwear,” I blurted out. “Prove it,”
he retaliates. I thought I was outsmarting him until I remembered that
I was wearing a dress.
Drinking tap water is a recipe for disaster in Mexico. Unless you want
the diarrhea gods to strike upon you the woes of being on the toilet
all damn day, you can’t even brush your teeth with tap water. The
only time water ever touched my mouth in Cabo was bottled water
for brushing my teeth. And since beer costs less than bottled water in
Mexico, it was all I drank, besides copious amounts of tequila and the
occasional Pedialyte just to keep myself, you know, alive. Time doesn’t
exist in Cabo. The pace of life is vastly different than that of America,
and it was something I enjoyed embracing, mostly because I had no
choice. When in Cabo, right?