One of the top 57 reasons I probably won't kiss any ladies in Miami in the foreseeable future is to prevent something like this from happening.
I'm guessing the attorney who got tennis star Richard Gasquet exonerated on the all new Coked-Up Kiss-Off defense is probably not the same lawyer as the one who wears Spanish-language "No Cupable" t-shirts for his clients.
(A big ol' tip of the SFTC cap to Highland Park Attorney for sending the story.)
Speaking of cocaine: I don't remember much about elementary or middle school, but while researching today's post* I was reminded of the drug education classes we had to take in the 80s. This was during the Nancy Reagan years, so if memory serves, the main message we were supposed to take away was that when we were inevitably offered heroin and/or PCP by our local ne'er-do-wells and hoodlums, we were generally supposed to say "no."
I guess that lesson stuck, but I don't recall much else about those classes. Except that - at least in my mind's eye - the teacher seemed to spend a lot of time with us poring over the drugs' street names. Like a dozen nicknames for each of them. Nothing better than a middle school teacher explaining that the pushers might call marijuana "Mary Jane" or "weed."
It was edifying, though. Certainly, I was prepared for the eventuality that if I were at a sixth grade party and the other kids were talking about doing some "blowcaine," I'd know they were talking about something other than a new hairdryer.
* What? You thought I was doing this sans research? This is serious stuff.