The true story of the last time I was drunk

It must have been at least three years ago now.
I'd had a heartbreak when a gal I was gaga for broke up with me.
As I started to recover, my friends decided to try and hook me up.
Cristy took me to the Byrd Cage and her mom was coming a little later with friends.
Cristy bought me a drink. That was really all it took. I can't drink. It goes straight to my head. She had bought me a pretty little drink. I don't remember know what it was called or even what was in it besides two kinds of fruit juice and a white liquor like rum or maybe Vodka.
I was too interested in the woman they brought me but being lit did make me much less shy.
Cristy hopped out to the dance floor. I might have gone out to, but I couldn't feel my knees.
The evening was a fiasco. The woman was very nice but she must have thought I was an alcoholic. (Really, I'm more aptly described as the anti-alcoholic. Most alcohol gives me an instantaneous headache.)
It was late, about 1 a.m. and Cristy decided it was time to drag me out of the place.
We stepped outside and it was pouring. Big fat raindrops. "Monsooning," Cristy called it. The parking lot was several inches deep in rainwater.
I told Cristy we should wait. Cristy was impatient and she insisted that we go.
We splashed through the parking lot, Cristy in her dainty high heels.
We reached the car and I saw a sheet of rain coming towards us. I could see it because behind it was the absence of light-reflecting raindrops.
We were about to get in and I looked across the car at Cristy, "We should have waited."
Cristy yelled at me, "FOR WHAT, JEAN?!"
The end of the front reached the hood of her Chrysler 300.
"For this," I answered.
And suddenly, there was no rain.

I didn't connect with the earthy blonde that night, but Cristy likes to tell the rain story.