It was March of 1999 and we were 19 years old. I was a blond haired, blue eyed college freshman. She was an olive toned, dark haired whore. And we were headed to Cancun, Mexico for Spring Break.
I told her I was certain we’d both be able to get across the border on our way down, but made no promises about being able to bring her home. Because when you’re a 19 year old girl from the Midwest, everyone knows that if you have dark hair and a deep tan you look just like a Mexican.
We stuffed our suitcases with tiny bits of cloth made to look like underwear and even tinier bits of cloth we had designated as “swim wear”. The only thing in that bag bigger than my hand was the push up bras designed to lure frat boys into my bosom with the promise that I actually had one. Well, that and the lacy slings she called bras, which were engineered to keep her oompa loompas mildly at bay and upright.
Not just a whore – but a whore with big knockers. I mainly brought her with me as bait.
The first thing we learned when we landed in Mexico was that you could smoke anywhere. I had one cigarette in baggage claim, another one in customs and two more in the cab. Just because I could.
The next thing we learned upon our arrival at the resort was that you can drink 24 hours a day without having to sneak it past your RA. For the next seven days, we resolved to take full advantage of our new found liberties with a liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner. And snack. And nightcap. And drinks. And did I mention we stayed at an all-inclusive resort? And that that included booze?
Moral of the story: we were shamefully drunk for about 7 days straight.
But of course, booze and cigarettes were not the focus of the week. In fact, the other lessons I learned during that week with my college roommate are ones that have stuck with me to this day.
Especially the one she taught me the third night we were there. Which is, basically, this:
If a Mexican police officer catches you having sex on the beach with a guy you met on the way home from the bar, the easiest way to ensure you don’t spend the night in jail is to flash him a $20. Flashing him your oompa loompas doesn’t hurt either.
See? What’d I tell you? The more you know, people. The more you know.
I just hope she is as generous with that wisdom today as she was with me back then. I’m sure her three children would appreciate it.
Happy Birthday, Sister Christian. Love ya still.