So, Prince died. And that makes me think of White Russians. He wasn't Russian, or white for that matter, but in the '80's the White Russian was heartily consumed by me in various bars. Once, a friend and I even made them with ice cream. We eventually learned that one cannot get drunk from drinks made with ice cream. Only full. So, so full.
One night in particular, at a University Bar, a boy gave me the time of day. This was an unusual--or even unheard of event. My posse tended to travel in a pack, and, while some among us were paired off neatly, I was a sad lone wolf.
The boy was hot. Rumored to be rich, unknown to me and my friends, and from another realm. In my memory, 2 a.m. loomed, and his eyes met mine. "Sure. You can give me a ride home," I breathed, after checking behind, and all around me to make certain he was choosing me.
We located his car.
A Red Corvette.
He drove me halfway home. He was unsuccessful. I was scared and little devastated and ruined for a couple more years. He drove me the rest of the way home in silence, late.
We never met eyes again.
Believe it or not, I started to worry I wondered if I had enough class But it was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right And you say, "Baby, have you got enough gas?"
1 oz vodka
2 oz Kahlua
1 cup unsweet almond milk buzzed in a blender with 1 tsp coconut oil