Our night Monday started innocently enough with us, a happy foursome out to celebrate the upcoming holiday, deciding that there wasn't enough tequila in the margaritas we'd just ordered. Carissa, Chappy J and I were sitting around the table in a local Mexican place with just-poured drinks from the pitcher and upon taking those first long awaited sips we muttered, "Hmmmm. Not so strong. Do these even have tequila in them?" It's a problem, I suppose, rooted in the fact than when we, ourselves, make margaritas we put so much alcohol in that at first we proclaim, "Oh my GOD! I cannot drink this!" Three or so later we've proved that, oh yes, we can, indeed, "drink this."
But the margaritas Monday night, we decided, needed¬a kick. After all, it was almost America's birthday, so we very kindly asked our waitress, "Um, could we get some more tequila in these?" which sent her back to the kitchen for a while before she returned with a half-full pitcher of more margaritas that she added¬to ours and explained, "These, these have more tequila." Excellent, we said.
It turns out, I'm pretty certain, that both sets of margaritas had plenty of tequila, because¬it was enough to send us into a discussion regarding how birds procreate. We figured J would know, what with his affection for birds and their habits and all, but he informed us that he just likes to identify birds. He's not into how they make love or anything like that.
"Do they have sex like people?" we wondered. Do male birds...do they have a penis? Do they maybe have...a benis?
The night progressed and the subject matter was dropped for a while, but not forgotten. J and I made it home at about 2 a.m. while the others held a spirited after-hours affair at Chappy's new place. He's going to be starting business school at UNC shortly and found some classmates while out. We watched in awe as they greeted each other like old friends, a whole bevy of them, smartly dressed with cocktails in their hands. I have a feeling business school is going to be a lot of fun.¬Fun for me to observe, as well.
I got a call from those two Tuesday morning, after their party which had lasted until the early hours of the morning. But despite¬being groggy¬their curiosity was steadfast and they'd researched our quandary on the internet. "Birds," they told me, "do not have a benis. Nor do they have a birdgina." Instead, the male and female bird rub against one another in a delicate maneuver called "the cloacal kiss," because it is during this glorious,¬sexual dance that the sperm are passed from the male to the female through her cloaca,¬which leads to the ovaries.
I like how the article includes a warning that says it's "intended for mature audiences" as though you are about to score with some major porn. Bird porn, anyway. ¬¬¬