Not in the sense that I need one to get me through the day, but I need a signature drink. A go-to drink that I order when I go to the bar, or a brand that I keep stocked in my house for a nice nightcap.
I need a drink.
My early drinking days were filled with plastic jugs of cheap vodka from the bottom shelf, bottles of Coke emptied of half its contents and refilled with booze and bags of Franzia that we milked for its Chillable Red contents. Seriously, I drank so much Whaler’s Vanilla Rum and Coke that when Vanilla flavored Coke came out, I couldn’t drink it in public without looking around for the cops.
On my theatre internship in Arizona, I discovered the wonder that is wine. I’d had red wine before, but it wasn’t until I was out with a group of actors that I idolized that tried white. One of the actors ordered Pinot Grigio and I said that I’d have the same. This started my love affair with the tart little beauty, though for about three months I ordered it with a mumble because I didn’t know how to pronounce Grigio correctly.
“I’ll have a Pinot Greegrerezio.”
Oh yeah. 22 was a classy year.
When I worked for a alcohol distributor, I tried every type of booze under the sun, but never found a favorite. Seven and Seven became my drink, born of laziness, iced with lots of lime. I also learned to like beer; Heifeweizen being my brew of choice, with that debated little slice of lemon squeezed in. (Maybe I just like citrus?)
Now, I’m a grown-up (HA!) I would like a drink of choice. Something I can order at the bar easily and quickly, so that I don’t end up hemming and hawing until the bartender gets irritated and makes me a Scooby Snack or an Oatmeal Cookie shot to get me out of his face. (Apparently indecision indicates that I’m an amateur and need something that will rot my teeth out of my head.)
Beer is tasty and my fave, but it makes you bloaty. Wine is lovely, but I feel the need to finish the bottle because I follow-through, dammit. But wine makes you soccer mom drunk, where you walk around thinking you’re SOOOO SEX-AY, but in reality you’ve tucked your skirt into your panties and have drooled in your cleavage. I need a cocktail that I can sip on after the baby has gone to bed, listening to the ice clink in my rocks glass as I cuddle with Jethro by the fire and listen to Teddy Pendergrass.
Okay, so it’ll be in a mason jar and I’ll be on the couch watching NCIS with Jethro as I screech at him to get his toes OFF OF ME, YOU KNOW I HATE FEET.
But still. A drink. I wants it.
So, how about it, moppets? What’s your favorite go-to adult beverage? What should I make Jethro meet me at the door with in one hand and my slippers in the other? Gimme!