One thing I always do when coming back to Tennessee is set aside some quality bonding time with my totally awesome (single)(readily available) cousin John. This usually consists of childish banter, a discussion of Nashville’s lack of quality women and the consumption of at least one adult beverage. You see, John’s constantly on a hunt for a wife (kidding.sorta.not really) and has found the perfect way to simultaneously woo a lady while lowering her inhibitions: chocolate and alcohol. Behold (or simply fast forward to approximately 2:00 and then again at 2:49 for the great Shaker Gyration):
Appropriately dubbed “feetinis,” as “fees” (chicks, ladies, whatever you want to call us) are the bane of John’s existence. Someday, when he’s good and ready, I’ll have him tell you about his exploits in biting a future Bachelor contestant on the cheek in an effort to end a date that was going nowhere fast. Classy fella, that John. But I will admit his feetinis brought these fees’ milkshakes to the yard.
The guys were digging them, too (any dude who denies liking chocolate — I’M LOOKING AT YOU, SVV — is lying, LYING, I tell you). When they weren’t busy searching for dates on Craigslist personals, that is.*
*Not judging online dating, no way, but hey, if you’re a single fee in the Greater Nashville Area, drop me a line and I’ll arrange for a feetini tasting all of your own with both John and his (equally attractive)(equally single)(equally available) roommate Kellan (ladies, he plays the guitar). Because every guy secretly digs being pimped out via blog. John may know the way to a woman’s heart, but I’ve got the male brain figured out, yo.