“…When a gal orders a scotch or a bourbon, I’m pretty much on Orbitz looking for our elopement flights.”
August 4, 2010 14 Comments
Oh, women and the things they do. As this is a blog that has both a male and female basically running things around here, I would like to propose something a little off our usual well-worn path of pseudo-political commentary and emotionally-charged statements to talk about something I read recently about the things that men love about women. I know, it was another top ten list and possesses the faults of such a limited tool, but the man that wrote it was (as he stated) “…writing to you from the Mariana Trench–level depths of a reasonably significant hangover” which immediately piqued the ol’ interest as he was attempting to push through his softened head and put up encouraging material through the haze.
If you get a chance the article is a fun read, but the point that I would like to donate material on is the “real drink” lover:
I’ve caught some flak for mentioning that a vodka tonic is a shameful drink, and I might back away from it now as I’ve had a few this summer and there is something nice and uncomplicated about them, but as girl drink orders go, they’re a bit unoriginal. But when a woman orders up something brown, I’m all “I will make sure your diamond is not a conflict diamond!” Also, add to this a lady who insists on picking up a round. That’s always great. I have no problem paying (chivalry isn’t dead, according to those Chivas ads), but when a girl is like, “No, you got the first few, Slim, I got this one,” I’m all “My parents will totally help your parents find the right caterer.”
Nothing throws a wrench in my well-thought out planning when wooing a fair maiden more than if she throws a splash of that sweet SWEET brown nectar on ice with a dash of water and presents it, not as my drink of choice, but as hers. I have no qualms admitting that I do cavort with the occasional mixed drink, and yes I have consumed a few of those mockeries that are called “____tinis” while smiling politely and screaming with my eyes, but nothing feels more like home (albeit a more edgeless and warm one) than a good solid single malt over a few cubes of ice with just a splash of water to slow the burn. Large sections of my life have been spent in the pub taking orders for the lads and ladies and coming back with four blue drinks, two cream-based ones and assorted beers to have only one glass even thinking about being a mature beverage and not hide behind a wall of sugar and food coloring.
-But to have a woman consume the same? That would be the most pleasantly intimidating thing I think I will see my entire life. Hasn’t happened yet, but then the moon hasn’t fallen from the sky either… and you never know. Until then, cheers to the mystery woman; may our paths cross in the near future