7th May 2001

At the Cinco de Mayo party, Amit carries over a container of green Margarita salt and calmly points to the slogan. All of us lean forward and exclaim, “WON’T STAIN SKIN!?” We are tipsy, and this is a major selling point. Also, the salt is very green. So green, in fact, that it definitely seems as though it would stain. Briefly, I imagine turning the party into an impromptu episode of “Fight Back!”. Calling everyone out into the yard, sprinkling them with a garden hose, and instructing them to roll around in the salt. I glance at all the men wearing Corona shirts and backward visors. These men have unusually square jaws. I decide that they are hardly the types who would cover themselves in salt if given the opportunity. I lick the back of my hand and offer myself up as a guinea pig. An hour later, it washes right off. I’ll be damned.

11:09 a.m.