My margarita recipe

It was a hot summer a few years ago when my girlfriend Holly and I stumbled onto our favorite drink. It was a rare day off for me, and Holly too, as we were both in school at the time and working fulltime. By noon we had two coolers packed (one for food, one for booze) and we were headed to a local beach off the beaten path where the odds of sharing with other locals was probable but the chance of tourists was slim. Exactly how we like it.
Anyway, we were out to catch a little sun, a buzz, and relax. As I pulled the Jose and mix from the cooler, Holly reached into the food cooler and came out with a bag of frozen raspberries. "Should we throw some of these in?"
"Why not?" I replied. I had the freshly sliced limes ready to go, too. And kosher salt. We have always been serious about our margarita ingredients, whether we were on the deck at home or camping in the middle of nowhere. We don't do half-assed margaritas.
The addition of the raspberries was delightful. As the afternoon wore on, we lost more articles of clothing, and our lounge chairs slid deeper into the water, the raspberries thawed into a soupy mess. This only made the drinks better. A handful of berries followed by a shot of juice in our drinks made the perfect margarita.
Three hours later, it occurred to us we would not be driving home. "Don't worry, Bob will come and get us," I assured Holly, digging for my cell phone. Not that she was worried.
I called my husband. It went something like this.
"Honey! You're home now."
"Of course I'm home. It's six o'clock. Where are you?"
"We're at Sand Point. We were SO hot, we had to go swimming."
Silence.
"Honey? Can you come get us? I think we drank too many margaritas."
"Really?"
"Well..."
"What were we gonna do for supper?" There was my second clue. At first it went right over my tequila-befuddled head. I giggled, "oh we don't feel like eating yet. We've been having chicken 'n biskits with can cheese."
A big sigh. "OK, give me a minute." He hung up.
"Is he mad?" Holly asked, although she couldn't wipe the shit-eating grin off her face. "No," I started to laugh, then suddenly remembered. I stared, my hand over my mouth, horrified.
"What?" Holly tried to look alarmed, but was overcome with a fit of the giggles.
"Today is his birthday. Oh my God!"
She howled with laughter.
"Shit, Holly!"
I slipped on a rock and landed on my ass next to my chair, up to my armpits in the warm water. "Oh my god, did you pee over here?" I was laughing now too. "The closer I am to your chair, the warmer the water is!"
When Bob arrived, we were still in the water. We tried to make it up to him by taking him down the lake to our favorite supper club for dinner, and he graciously accepted, my long-suffering husband, even though we were tipsy and maybe a little rowdy.
It's August again, I still drink perfect margaritas, but everything's different.
I miss you, Holly.