I have this wonderful niece, Ellie. She is a 21 year old college student in the process of getting her Master's in accounting. Ellie is very smart, and I trust her opinion on all kinds of things. Namely technology and liquor.
College students are really good at technology and liquor.
So when Ellie poured me a glass of this on Christmas Eve, I felt confident I would not be led astray:
Holy Great God of Thunder. RumChata is like French Toast in a fancy white bottle. Creamy, cinnamon-y heaven.
Needless to say, I had to get some of my own.
I went to FOUR stores. FOUR.
They were sold out everywhere.
It was like trying to buy a Cabbage Patch Kid circa 1983.
Finally, I found the last remaining bottle hidden behind a Pina Colada mix at a Dominick's off 143rd & Bell.
With a lot of writing on the docket for last night, I poured myself a glass for inspiration.
And then another.
And finally, a third.
I giddily submitted my pieces to various people, blogs, and editors feeling quite confident that I was in fact the funniest person ever to have lived.
Crap crap crap.
I think I wrote about my unholy fear of carwashes in one essay, and in another piece, I used the word "penis" 145 times.
RumChata, ladies and gentlemen.
My new muse.
Let's give her a nice, warm welcome, shall we?