Rebbecca’s late. Rebbecca’s rushing. She darts around her half-bathroom like an excited electron. Brushing her hair as she brushes her teeth, putting on eyeliner while gargling. She multitasks as efficiently as an addict in withdrawal.  Rebbecca’s at the bar. Rebbecca’s buying the third round of drinks.

    “Four shots of tequila for me and the girls over there.” she says to the bartender, not yet slurring.

    “Tequila? Hows about’sn some of me corn moonshine? Its half the price.”

Rebbecca looks into her purse, she has ample amounts of money, but she also has her eye on a pair of shoes at Sassy Fashions.

    “I guess I can give it a shot.” she replies, winking at the bartender so he will notice her very intentional pun.

    “Alright ladies, I’ve got the booze, we’re trying something new this round. Remember, only bitches vomit,” Rebbecca announces. The “ladies” tilt their heads back and empty the content of their one ounce glasses. They cringe and some even shiver as their tongues violently try to escape the toxic hell.

    Rebbecca leads the four girls out of the bar and into the nearby strip club. Barely able to stand on their own, the girls move as a single huddled entity, staying upright through a combination of teamwork and magic. The friends find their seats as the next performer comes on stage. Horror comes across her friend’s faces.

    “Mr. Eaglestein?” one of them gasps.

    Rebbecca shouts as her stomach empties on the stage, “Dad?!”