In this world, “Woo!” appeared to be some kind of attention-grabbing mating call, and “Want a drink?” was code for “I want to see you naked and will react to your refusal like a petulant child.” I’d watched every teen movie ever made, but this world had no resemblance to anything I’d seen on screen. No handsome, charming man stepped in to save me from the more obnoxious party-goers, and not once did the group break into a spontaneous but perfectly choreographed dance number. I was sorely disappointed. I dealt with my disappointment as millions before me have: through the power of beer. Growing up with three wine-swilling aunts, I thought I knew a thing or two about holding my alcohol, so when the first two cups went down with no obvious ill effects, a third didn’t seem like a big deal. It didn’t take long before the party felt less intimidating and the people became more interesting and attractive, so once that third drink vanished, I decided a fourth cup was an excellent idea.
