The Missing Pieces of Life

About four in the afternoon, my friend and I were at a bar playing with these little plastic toys left in a basket for drunk kids like us. She had set up a wall of fencing with soldiers and cowboys, defending it from my wall of teepees and Indians that pointed their little bows and arrows at the guns. My toy horse was adorned with a hot pink cocktail umbrella. It was Sunday and I was spending it doing what I always did - Bloody Mary's over Brunch, shopping at consignment stores, and happy hour. I loved life as a cocktail waitress, a life of 5am bedtimes and tequila and bar-hopping fun. I loved it, but all this was about to change. With bourbon in hand, I laid out my plans for the future.
"What the hell? Seriously?" My friend almost spit her gin and tonic out of her mouth.
"Yep. We're moving to Hawaii to start a family." I finished my bourbon and ordered two shots of Patron. Shots were a good way for people to absorb information. We cheered silently, clinking our shots before they went down respective gullets.
"Wow. What a decision," she said.
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