I'm not talking about the death kind of loss, although death can be a bummer. I'm not even talking about losing at something, even though if you've read my About Me section, you probably know I'm not too fond of that, either. No, I'm talking about losing items -- more specifically, items with sentimental value you didn't even realise they had before you lost it.
I'm going to tell you a story. (Strap yourself in.) For my eighteenth birthday a few years ago, my girlfriends bought me a whole bunch of cool stuff, including this tiny little Irish shotglass, which looked something like this:
Actually, it looked nothing like this, but okay.
Now since I'm a gal who likes the drink, this is a pretty fitting gift from my laydeez. (As they will now be known.) And boy did I enjoy a drinkie or two with my new favourite shottie. The next month, I graduated from high school -- and after years of watching Grease was pretty disappointed that there was no carnival, nor did we leave in a flying car. But I digress.
So you've graduated from high school. What's next? Schoolies, of course -- an entire week of beach, boys and booze! We were amped, and I brought Irish Shottie because I knew I'd be using it quite a bit.
One night (it was a Thursday, but that's of very little importance), we were sitting outside our friends' tent, playing a game we like to call Eleven Before One, which is pretty self-explanatory -- eleven drinks before one. And yeah, I know, it's pretty weak, but I'm a tiny little woman -- after about three drinks, there's more alcohol than blood in me. Considering Eleven Before One is pretty much a challenge, I needed to take up that challenge and win, dammit! So Jager shots (with Irish Shottie, of course) happened. And then they happened some more, and some more, until eventually (as my laydeez tell me) I fell backwards off my chair (and nearly off the hill we were situated on) and pretty much gave myself a minor bout of alcohol posioning. Clap clap to me.
It took a call to one of my laydeez's mother (who's a nurse, and a damned fine one at that), throwing up eight times in various locations, gallons of water and being woken up every half an hour for rehydrating to keep me from dying. That's my laydeez for ya -- always cool in a crisis. Yeah, so in the past two months I'm talking about, they saved my life and bought me the world's coolest shotglass. I frickin' love these bitches.
The next morning I woke up (I wasn't even hungover or anything, but I did feel a touch queasy) and I realised I'd left Irish Shottie at the boys' campsite. Except when I went back there, I couldn't find it. And believe me, I looked. I even made one of the boys rummage through a nearby bin in case someone had cleared it away with the rubbish, but alas, Irish Shottie was gone. I never did find it, but I assume it must've been stolen by the same party that had taken one guy's camera, and the boys' pancake mix. (True story.)
I'll never forget Irish Shottie. I'd only had it for less than two months, but it meant the world to me. It had war stories to tell, it had memories attached to it. Thankfully on that trip, we headed down to the gift shop and found a replacement shottie, which not only reminds me of the big Schoolies fun, but I think there's a little bit of Irish Shottie in it, too.
Oh, and by the way, I did win Eleven Before One. So I guess something good did come out of it, even if Irish Shottie paid the ultimate price. *Wipes tear from eye* You will not be forgotten, my friend.