N* and I were at a liquor store here in Texas, buying supplies for margaritas. As we were checking out, the cashier asked us what tequilas we liked, so we told him.
"So what do you drink?" N asked in return.
"Well," he said, "I like Milagro, and 1800, and [blank], the one over there that comes in a bottle shaped like Texas."
We nodded; he continued, "I used to drink Patrón. But I don't anymore," he paused as he put our purchases in a bag. "Do you know," he said, "who owns Patrón now?"
"No," we said, shaking our heads.
"Paul Mitchell. The hair guy."
...and scene. The moral of the story: real men don't buy tequila from men who sell hair products.
*My fiance/life partner/father of my cat objected to being called the "Big F," a nickname I experimented with in a previous post. He suggested instead, "The Voice of Reason." I've decided to just stick with his first initial from here on out.