Amigo Tequila is so not my friend.

At a recent town social gathering. Imagine something with a Gilmore Girls’ Stars Hollow Town Meeting-esque quality. Only in South Dakota:

She: You’re wearing a very low-cut top.

Me: [WTF? And as part of this sidebar, I feel compelled to state to you, Dear Readers, that top was not all that low-cut.]

She: [Blithely continuing on.] Yeah. We should take you out to a street corner downtown and then we can sell you for beer money so we can have a party afterwards.

Me: [Thinking: Okay, that’s it. Step away from me, Oh Scary Person of the Corn! Back away slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.] Hmm. Yeah, I don’t think so. [Going for the redirect.] And actually, I think the real issue at hand is whether or not this shirt makes me look like a meringue.

She: A meringue?

Me: Yes. A meringue. I have Meringue Anxiety.