Dear alcohol,

why don't you like me?

See... I have always been very kind to you. I treated you well... I was polite.
When the nice lady asked what I'd like to drink, I was very specific on how she should treat you. I asked her to put you in a fancy glass and just to make sure you are not all alone she invited your friends mr. mango syrup and mr. lime juice, too.

Since she knew you guys like each other a lot, she threw in hundreds of mini pieces of ice to cool things down a little for you.

She was very careful when she brought you to me. Not a single drop of you got lost on the way. When she put you down on the table in front of me, I smiled at you and greeted you with the nicest words that came up my mind: "Come to papa", I said, "I like you. I like you so much that I'm gonna name you...".

And then it hit me.

You were COOL. In fact you were such a cool thing, that I had to give you a cool name. A Bond, James Bond kind of cool name.

I concentrated. I shut off all the noises around me: the people talking and laughing, the sounds coming out of those huge speakers all around the place and even those hammering jungle beats who couldn't keep up with my heartbeat's excitement when I first saw you.

Yes, I was in complete awe because of you.

"I'm gonna name you... Daiquiri... Mango Daiquiri".

I snaped back of my daydream when my boyfriend Dominik took a straw and alowly, almost gently pushed it inside of you.
You liked it, admit it. I noticed how you started to shake.

See, I must have proven to you that I liked you a lot. I allowed you to touch those sweet lips of his. And believe me, NO ONE gets to touch those lips except me.

I even paid the lady for treating you like a king. It wasn't cheap, I tell you.

But after this, after aaaaaaall this. You HAD TO give me the HEADACHE OF MY LIFE.
So tell me, dear alcohol, why do you HATE ME so much?