And Then There Are the Women Who Drink Tequila.

This is a love note to all tequila-lovin’ women.

We aren’t whores or sluts.

We aren’t doing body shots in Cabo-whatever Wabo.

I just made that last part up because I never have even gone on a real spring break, despite being somewhat rebellious in high school and not rebellious at all in college.

Yet, don’t you mistake—I stinkin’ love tequila.

Love in all caps.

I don’t like it in margaritas. I feel like margaritas are an adulteration of a great tequila. My point is proven in that great tequila is typically not placed within a drink with a salt-rimmed glass and gross filler liquid that makes my body bloated for days after. (I shivered writing about it.)

No, straight-up tequila makes my belly warm.

The lime with a shot is my favorite part.

When I was pregnant, I would just suck on limes. I realized, then, that this is distinctly a beautiful piece of the tequila-shot process.

I love salt.

To be fair, I had such low blood pressure (syncope syndrome) for years, that I had to take medication to raise it. I no longer do, and I largely eat process-free based food (a whole ‘nother article), but, anyways, I love large chunks of sea salt.

I love them sprinkled in my hand and the texture after I lick them before I throw a shot back.

I only drink Sauza tequila. It’s the best. I’ve tried many other, much more expensive brands, and I’ll tell you, time and time again, that my brand is Sauza. Yours is your preference, and maybe you drink it on the rocks, like my husband did after we were gifted a beautiful bottle from a friend who knew we loved the stuff, instead of with limes and sea salt.

Regardless, tequila lovers have our brands, our reasons, and we don’t take shit over why—including a price-tag.

I guess I am kind of a slut.

I don’t sleep around, but I love sex. Do all tequila lovers love sex? I think we do.

I think we’re Dorothy on the streets and Blanche in the sheets.

I think we’re often ferocious women who aren’t afraid of being loud.

My nine-month-old baby is the loudest person I know. She screams at a dog-ear-piercing level when she doesn’t like something, and she lets me know instantly what she wants or doesn’t. I think she just might love tequila someday.

If you, too, feel occasionally guilty when people ask you what white wines you like (snort laughing…although I have two brands of white I adore) or, “You love tequila? You have to try this—I make the best margaritas!” (Nooooooooo.) Then, know you are not alone.

Nope.

We aren’t a rare species.

Although, honestly, I’ve never met—full-face—another like me (have you?), but I know that we must be a behind-the-scenes force or, maybe—we are rare.

We are a rare woman who knows she is a keeper.

Speaking of keepers, my husband is my best shot giver.

He knows when I shouldn’t have one, too—like when my kids are driving me crazy, or I need to talk about something, or…or…—and he knows when to just pour me one flat out, cut a gorgeous slice of bright green lime and pour some snobby sea salt in my hand.

I have two children.

My second book is about to release.

In other words, I love tequila, but I’m responsible and mindful about my preference.

I don’t drink tequila daily, or nightly, or need it to survive or even have it in the house all the time (but, usually)—but I absolutely can feel my mouth deliciously parch just imagining the super-citric lime acid, and my belly warm as if it’s on fire, and my heart settle inside of my Alice-in-Wonderland, teensy, tiny Ball jar glass that I love drinking one out of when it is enjoyed.

Do you love tequila?

Oh, God, I love you.

I looooooove you. It’s not the tequila talking, honey. Can I call you, honey? (I forgot to mention that we have the sweetest, ooiest, gooiest, dripping-full-of-love hearts to conjoin our outright, female strength.)

And this is for you: the other warm-hearted, sharp-tongued, sassy, sweet, tequila-drinking ladies. Muah.

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