I once was at a birthday party that a husband threw for his wife. As the night wore on, the two groups drank more and their personalities became more obvious and wildly disparate.

The husband’s friends talked, laughed, sang, drank cachaça, included everyone in the conversation, and were generally jovial.

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The wife’s friends were reserved and kept to themselves while slowly getting drunk on mid-range red wine. Any attempts at conversation were met with judgmental looks and snide remarks. The more they drank, the more purple their sneers became, at which point their meanness became ridiculously fun, because for as much as they thought they had the upper hand, we could see the sad truth behind their false superiority.

The moral of the story is, drink the cachaça and have a good time.