Saturday morning arrives with one wicked hangover. Luckily, Mr. Cocky Pants braves the extreme heat to get us bagels while I watch Starlicious makeovers on E! Mizz Cartier calls and tells me to get out to the lake – pronto. Her family will be out at her aunt and uncle’s lake house and she’s sitting on the dock drinking a beer. Say no more! I book it out to the lake.

There’s a delicious man we’ll call L.A. Cowboy making margaritas in the kitchen. Helloooo Cowboy. I get a beer to solve my hangover issue and then the first round of margaritas is ready before I’m finished. So I’m already double-fisting and it’s 3:30 p.m. L.A. Cowboy warns me I’ll be staying the night if I’m not careful with the margaritas. Oh yes, my Cowboy friend – I will definitely be staying the night.

There’s a first round of margaritas and somewhere in the rest of the day there’s a last. I think. We hang out on the dock, drinking and listening to music. L.A. Cowboy is the perfect host, running up to the house when I need my drink refreshed. Mmm! Then I make the mistake of taunting him. There’s something about a challenge on the jet ski. And then it’s on. He and I take off over the waves while I hold on for dear life (and because he’s nice to hold on to) and screaming in his ear.

He’s nice enough not to throw me off, but when we switch places and I drive, he pulls me right off the back of the damn thing. So both of us are in the water, half-drunk, laughing and attempting to swim back to the jet ski, which floats just out of our reach. I tell him to go on without me.

“It’s not worth it! Save yourself!” I sputter, trying in vain to swim with my bulky life jacket.

“I would, but you’ve got the lanyard,” he points out.

Once we reach the jet ski, he helps me up. “I know you can see my entire ass right now,” I say, hitching up my water-logged bikini bottoms.

“Mmm. Just part of it,” he says helpfully. I can hear the grin on his face.

He’s driving as we head back to the dock. “How fast can we go?” he asks.

“Sixty two,” I predict and we shoot across the water. Almost to our destination, I accidentally swipe the lanyard and the jet ski crashes to a stop. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You pulled the lanyard!” L.A. Cowboy tells me.

“Oh. Oops.”

Back at the dock, most of the family has gone up to the house and only Mizz Cartier and L.A. Cowboy’s friend Slim are waiting. L.A. Cowboy makes sure to tell them that I pulled the lanyard on our trip back. I protest loudly that it was an accident. He also winks at Slim and tells him about my ass.

“I don’t hear any complaints,” I say, and smile. “And I never have.”

Mizz Cartier and I take a quick dip and then the four of us head up to the patio for some wine. Because what day would be complete without mixing more alcohol? It’s about then that things get fuzzy. Okay, fuzzier. We end up back at the house with even more wine, and there’s a dog toy lost in the trees.

“Let’s find it!” I tell L.A. Cowboy and grab his hand. We’re looking for the dog toy—okay, we’re really just kissing—and then we lay down in the grass so we can look at the stars. I’m talking L.A. Cowboy’s ear off—oh yeah, and there’s some more kissing, as I balance my wine glass on my chest—when we notice flashlights being played across us.

“I think that’s our cue to head inside,” he says with a laugh.

Back on the porch, everyone is looking at us with knowing smiles.

“What? We were looking for the dog’s Frisbee,” L.A. Cowboy explains.

“Well, it wasn’t in the back of her throat,” Slim says and I knock back more wine. His mother is going to kill me. I’m a brazen gorgeous and sassy girl who comes over and eats them out of house and home, drinks all the alcohol and preys on her son? Yup, drinking more. Now.

It’s hard to keep my balance for the rest of the night. Her uncle—Cutty—comes home and pours us shots. Is that tequila? I decide that now would be a good time to inform Cutty I plan to marry his son.

“I’m going to marry L.A. Cowboy,” I say, with a sweep of my arm. “The only problem is that he wants three kids. Any chance you could talk him down?” I peer at Cutty with one eye closed.

We’re being so loud in the kitchen we’re asked to move downstairs. L.A. Cowboy, Cutty, Mizz Cartier and I take yet ANOTHER bottle of wine with us. I don’t have a clear recollection of the conversation, but I KNOW it’s funny. I’m hilarious! Especially after 1,000 drinks. I know Cutty is laughing. I hope he wants a really funny daughter-in-law.

Finally, Mizz Cartier passes out on the floor, one hand on her wine glass, Cutty calls it a night and heads upstairs and I’m ready to crash. Slim comes down from the living room, picks up Mizz Cartier and deposits her in one of the extra beds. She pops out of the bed and tries to walk away, succeeding only in crashing into the wall. Where the hell does she think she’s going? She and Slim are still awake when I crawl in bed with L.A. Cowboy.

“You were right about those margaritas,” I mumble. “My ass is tanked.”

-Shakira 06.13.04