I sip my Long Island Iced Tea, glancing out over the city. Even though it isn't nighttime, and really, that's when 230 5th Avenue is the most breathtaking, the view is still awesome. Who wouldn't love sitting in a rooftop garden, the city stretching out in every direction?

Can I just say, it’s way cooler than listening to Lisa and Ashley drool over their boyfriends, and their ginormous engagement rings that astronauts are probably checking out right now. I have to wonder if they’re going to get armed guards to follow them around and protect them from thieves. Those fuckers are massive.

I’m not jealous … just a little worried about someone jabbing an eye out. I mean, talk about a safety hazard!

Not able to stand another minute of their gushing, I finally blurt out, "So I went out on a date last night!" They quit comparing engagement rings long enough to turn and look at me.

Finally. 

"It was a bust, though," I admit, taking another sip of the tea, letting the pungent alcohol soothe my nerves. Really, who could expect to be happy after such a date?

"Awww ... honey. What happened?" Ashley takes a sip of her drink, her ring flashing in the sunlight. We were under an umbrella, blocking out direct sunlight, and of course I had on my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, but still, the light seemed damn bright to me.

I ignore it. I can't exactly ask Ashley to take off her ring—her symbol of her undying, eternal love for her CEO. Blech. How boring is that? I can't imagine loving a CEO. I might as well fall in love with a banker.

I am not falling in love with a banker.

"Well, I met him at Flash Factory – you know, that dance club over on West 28th Street? Anyway, he was pretty hot and heavy with me all night, bragging about how big his dick was, and then we go back to my place, and ... you guys." My voice breaks with disgust. "His dick was three inches long! I've never seen such a pathetic thing in my life!"

They just bust up laughing and the alcohol in the Long Island Iced Tea allows me to relax enough to laugh, too. It's funny. Now. Twelve hours later.

At the time? Not so much.

"So he's one of those real dicks–" they start laughing again so hard, I have to shout over them, "who won't even go down on a girl," and of fucking course, they stop laughing abruptly, trying to hear what I'm saying, so I end up shouting that into the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Everyone stops.

Dead silence.

All eyes on me.

I close my eyes, doing my best ostrich imitation, but only if an ostrich can turn about seven shades of red.

What.

Ever.

Finally, the restaurant employees and customers resume their own lives, chatting, and laughing, and working, and my eyes spring open. Leaning forward, I shout whisper, "So he's refusing to go down on me, and I'm not about to touch that ... thing, so there we are in bed, and like, what the fuck was I supposed to do with him then? I threw him out, told him not to come back, and then I had to finish the night with a good round of Slick."

"Slick?" Ashley asks, befuddled. "Who's Slick?"

"My 8-inch dildo, remember?" I say, reminding her. We'd all gone dildo shopping together. She'd been there when I'd bought my best friend. Surely she remembers.

"Oh, right! I forgot. I haven't used mine in so long; I forgot about him. What did I name him...?" She's staring off into space, trying to remember, and all I want to do is throw my drink at her head. I mean, not that I'd waste a perfectly good drink like that, but c'mon. Did she have to rub it in?

"My outlaw's dick is ... perfect," Lisa sighed happily. "Have I showed you the picture of it yet?" She digs out her phone and flips through it, looking for the pic in question. I have to admit, I want to see it, if only to give myself something to fantasize about tonight.

"Roger!" Ashley finally says excitedly.

I swing my head to look at her, the whole world moving a little more than it probably should've with that movement – damn iced tea – and stare.

"What?" Even Lisa is staring at her.

"Roger! That's what I named my dildo," she says triumphantly.

"Who names their dildo 'Roger'?" I demand. "That is the least imaginative name on the planet!"

She just shrugs. "I'd just met a hot guy named Roger. I mean, nothing like Apollo, but he was cute. I figured it was just as good as any name."

I just look at her skeptically. It most definitely is not as good as any name. It is an awful name. It's a horrendous name. It's a terrible name. She should be ashamed of that—

"Here it is!" Lisa held her phone out and waggled it at me. "Look! I told you he was huge."

Oh.

My.

God.

There is no way a cock like that fits inside a person. 

I mean, I'm sure how huge her screen is doesn't help anything, but even that aside ...

"He's a monster," I breathe, staring endlessly at the screen. I can't tear my eyes away. It's mesmerizing ...

She pulls it back to stare down at it with a naughty grin, and I could just see she is replaying their last fucking in her mind. Eeewww...I love Lisa and all, but I really don't want to think about her fucking. There are some things I just don’t want in my head, KWIM?

I push away from the table.

"I gotta head out," I slur, and kissing Ashley and Lisa on the cheeks, I take the elevator to the main floor, which totes messes with my stomach; have you ever been drunk on an elevator? You feel like you're flying—and then out onto the street. I hesitate for a minute, trying to decide whether to text for an Uber or walk home, and finally decide to hell with it, I'll go for a walk. It's a damn nice day – not muggy or cold or windy or snowing, which has to be some sort of New York City weather miracle – so I might as well enjoy it, right? Plus, it'll give me a chance to burn off some of this alcohol. 

Home, in Turtle Bay, is like 30 blocks away, so I guess it's a good thing I'm wearing my Tieks instead of stilettos, right? I take off down the street toward Grand Central, enjoying the bustle of New Yorkers passing me – god, I really am drunk if I'm waxing on about how pleasant I find other New Yorkers – when suddenly, someone runs smack into the back of me.

"What the fuck?" I slur-yell, my Louis Vuitton purse swinging and then it's gone from my arm! Some punk ass kid with a black hoodie pulled up over his head is taking off down the street with my precious Louis Vuitton!

I take off running after him. 

"Stop! You goddamn thief, come back here!" 

I should probably save my breath so I can run faster, but shit, I can't keep quiet. That man just stole my fucking purse!

As I run, my drunk legs wobbling underneath me with every step, I suddenly hear weird noises. Like, it's New York City, right? I'm used to noises. But this ... this isn't something I've ever heard before.

My head whips around just in time to see...

A cowboy on a horse come tearing past me, a lasso spinning above his head.

How drunk am I?