Tonight we went to dinner with Christie and her sister, Annabeth. We had fun, talking all manner of shit over steaks and (for Christie and Annabeth, anyway) margaritas. Lots of margaritas.

We settled down at Zinnie's for one more drink before calling it a night - Christie and Annabeth had to go get their kids from their aunt's house. It was kind of warm at Zinnie's and Annabeth, not too wisely, I'm afraid, switched from regular green margaritas to a pink strawberry margarita.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked lightly after pushing her drink away.

"Back there," Sonya pointed, "why? Are you going to go puke?"

"Maybe," Annabeth admitted.

She was gone for quite a while, and eventually Christie went to check on her.

"Did she yak?"

"Yep."

Annabeth showed up shortly thereafter, shirt speckled with puke. She went outside to smoke. We paid and left, but we didn't get far. Just a few blocks from the bar...

"Uhhhh," Annabeth said, "car not such a good idea."

I stopped. She scrambled out of the backseat and honked behind the car. She sat in front with me the rest of the way home, eyes fixed forward and zombie-fied.