Dear Mezcal,

I don’t think we should see each other anymore.

Don’t get me wrong — I had great time with you in Mexico City the other weekend, but I woke up the next morning feeling a little remorseful, and dehydrated. It was kind of like that night I had a fling with Absinthe in Barcelona. I woke up without a drop of water left in my body and the sensation that I had turned into a giant Kafkaesque bug — all stiff limbs and joints. But I digress…

As you know, Mezcal, I’ve been with Tequila for 14 years now, and I really do prefer Tequila. Although we have an open relationship (I’ve been known to runoff with Gin for the weekend), after spending time with others, I always end up finding myself coming back to Tequila, the passion renewed. Luckily, Tequila never judges me, and is always there when I need him the most.

I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’ll admit, when I met you in that hip little mezcalaria in Colonia Condesa you seemed exciting and new. They served you in a little one-ounce shot glass because, as we all know, you’re the “bad boy” of Mexican spirits. I remember when Tequila was a “bad boy,” too. But I could always detect his sweeter side when others couldn’t.

You’re stronger and tougher than a the types I usually go for, with a higher alcohol content than most tequilas. So, I probably shouldn’t have had three shots in a row. But you smelled great, like citrus and butter. In truth, it was your taste that killed it for me. That smoky, grab-me-by-the-throat and set-me-on-fire-taste just didn’t do it for me.

Even though they served you with fresh-cut oranges sprinkled with chili, and super salty pumpkin seeds (delicious!), they couldn’t totally mask your harsh personality.

Listen, Mezcal, it’s not you. It’s me. I prefer something a little smoother, and not so smoky—something that goes down easy and has a subtle, complex personality, rather than something that gives me a dull headache and makes me wonder, “What the hell happened last night?” I know you have girls, and boys, lined up around the block for you, but you’re just not my type.

Best of luck,