I recently lived out a dream that would make even the guysiest of guys proud.
After renewing vows in Monterrey, the hometown of my lovely Mexican bride Nadia, we were lucky enough to travel to, among other sites, the dusty tourist town of Tequila. There, in full witness of Nadia and our Guadalajara-based galpal Karina, I walked off the beaten path into a seven-square metre watering hole for the locals, sidled up to the bar and ordered me a good, stiff drink en español.
Hola señor. Traigame la mejor tequila que tiene, por favor.
That's right: I drank tequila. In a cantina. In Tequila.