Like a crisp mountain breeze… right before you’re strangled by dandelions.
Like a freshly picked strawberry… mixed with enough preservatives to kill a mountain goat.
Or drinks with friends in a beautiful backyard with a signature, crisp, handmade elderberry and lavender infused mojito… only to find out the host forgot to add the rum.
Oh the humanity.
Why, Kesha, why.
I wish that wasn’t true. I’ll never give up their name. My lips are sealed for once… but let’s call him the mysterious Mr. Jim.
I apologize for trauma dumping, but I still have scars. I still can’t make myself attend BBQs or visit backyards.
Imagine someone saying:
“This is absolutely wonderful and refreshing…
Well I say…you know what would make this mojito even better? Rum.”
what kind of party is this? This is the weirdest intervention I’ve ever been invited to.
In my defense, I didn’t ask for an unmarried church mojito (virgin).
Sorry virgins. This is Hussy News, so if Glenda let you in, I’m sorry.
Glenda, try keeping your legs closed for once.
JT and Britt — yes, your promise rings are cute. Want a mojito? Rum or no rum?
What I’m trying to say is: do yourself a favor and hire a designated driver/mixologist who isn’t too tipsy to forget the rum.
Details matter, people!!!
Today’s news has extra sass, a whole lotta gasp, and enough rum to make you forget your own personal mojito trauma.
Sit back, put your Kesha mixtape on, have your mixologist pour you a mojito, buckle up and enjoy the ride.
Please don’t drive. Unless your mojito is an unmarried church mojito.
