And then once we’d gotten our fill of historic facts, we were going to head to the Riverwalk where we’d get our fill of tacos and tequila.
But then we spotted the huge line on the sidewalk in front of the Alamo, and we knew we’d need some reinforcements before attempting to tackle that.
And by “reinforcements” I mean “prickly pear margaritas.”
And that’s how I showed up at the Alamo drunk.
Or, well, two-margaritas-worth of tipsy.
Which was not entirely my fault. I mean, if you’re going to build margarita restaurants by historical places, this is just what’s going to happen. I’m going to show up drunk.
Plus, being drunk at the Alamo wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
First of all, there was the huge line outside.
Which meant there was also a crazy crowd on the inside. And, well, it was much smaller in there than you’d expect for a place called the Alamo.
This would have driven me crazy if I had been sober. Because when I’m sober I kind of hate people. And I especially hate big huge crowds of people in small spaces who are making it impossible for me to see historical displays about 19th Century weapons.
But when I’m two-margaritas-worth of tipsy, I LOVE people — ALL THE PEOPLE. Even if those people are being Crowdy McCrowdersons and not letting me learn a single thing about old-timey gun powder.
So instead of trying to push people out of the way so we could nose in on the displays, we headed to the gift shop.
Where this happened.
And maybe a little bit of this.
What’s the worst thing you’ve done as a tourist? (I mean “worst thing” within reason. Don’t confess murder or anything on here. I’m not ready to bail you out of jail, you guys.)