The reddish-brown dot soaked deep into his white Oxford shirt. He knew right then it would never come out. No amount of washing, soaking, or dry cleaning would free the blemish. The shirt would be forever marked with Angostura Bitters as a stamp of his commitment to adding them to an Old Fashioned.
From here on out the shirt could only be worn under sweaters but it would drive him crazy knowing that the cuffs and collar that peaked out were hiding a bitter secret. He could cut his losses and subject it to fancy house chores that required a collar like polishing crystal or cleaning the chandelier. He didn't have a chandelier though. He had a stained shirt.
He stood there looking at the dot as the bitters that had actually hit their target started to dissolve the sugar cube in the glass. How many times had he worn the shirt? From the feel, it was relatively new. Why couldn't it have been a different shirt like the gray t-shirt with the grease stain from taco night or the other Oxford with the yellowish neck ring that no amount of bleach so far could get out?
With a muddler and some minor annoyance, he mushed the sugar cube into a paste. He completed the drink in a trance. Ice. Whiskey. Stir. Orange. His mind kept wandering to the brown spot lurking near the third button from the bottom hem. Whiteout?! No that's stupid.
The front door opened and she entered all smiles. He instantly tried to cover the stain and offered her a sip of his cocktail to distract her from looking. She took the glass and glanced down at the flaw marring the stark white shirt. With a grin, she said, "Take that off and make me one of these. I'll see what I can do about that spot!"
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Bar To Home
A simple translation from bar to home.