Happy hour

Today was a coworker's last day at work, so a bunch of us all went out for drinks. It was my first time actually going out with my coworkers, and seemed like a harmlessly fun idea at the time until we got it into our heads that we should slam down shots of tequila just for the hell of it.

The end result?

1) I reveal to everyone that I wear size 12 shoes. In the distance, a horse neighs.

2) Some of the girls teach my boss and I ebonics. My boss doesn't know that I'm a former rapper -- because I act like such a strait-laced geek at work -- so she's startled to see me pick up the language so easily. I say something to the effect of: "Aw hell naw shorty, you straight trippin', I finna drank me some tanqueray, nah mean?"

3) Leaving the pub, I insist that MY HIPS DON'T LIE, and do the percolator. My buttcheeks have never clapped that hard before.

Way to develop a reputation around the office. It will be an awkward Monday to say the least.