The bartender didn't seem bothered by his request for a spoonful of absinthe in his martini. Normally he took a martini as any sensible person would: gin with a touch of vermouth and a squeeze of lemon oil to garnish. Today, however, he was in the mood for something slightly different.
To anyone looking at his drink . . .
6:30 sharp...or YOU have to make the drinks!
For the last few months, my wife and I have been enjoying a cocktail hour at home. This is a daily thing unless we happen to be out for some reason. It is in both of our calendars and whoever is late has to make the drinks...which are martinis more often than not.
Why Cocktail Hour?
We are both pretty intense in . . .
They usually had a cocktail every evening before dinner. Sometimes two. She would tell him about her day while he stirred their drinks. He wouldn't be home this evening though. It was a rare guys night.
By the time she got home, he would be halfway through a ribeye the size of Texas and all the way through his second . . .
The ride to the airport was easy and the surly TSA agent didn't say anything about his mismatched socks or the fact that he had no carry-on bag or luggage. His last-minute ticket made the buzzer go off when it went through the scanner. He realized it was the return ticket that would be used to fly back in a few hours.
. . .
The grill was warming up and the ballgame had taken an annoying turn after a bobbled ball in the outfield. He turned the radio down and went inside to get the chicken and zucchini she had prepped. A ribeye would have been more up his alley, but words like "healthy" and "cholesterol" had been floating around . . .
He poured the last sip of wine for her and waltzed over to the small bar cart to see about a nightcap. Neither of them needed one, but the fireworks would be starting soon. They had been an unexpected surprise throughout the summer. An amenity he enjoyed far more than the gym he assumed was on the third or fourth floor.
. . .
From the second I wake up my phone is trying to get my attention. It buzzes, flashes, beeps, and even whistles at me from time to time. It never stops even as I attempt to put pen to paper. Phone calls, emails, texts, tweets, likes, downvotes etc. As enticing as it would be to know The 15 Reasons Why I Didn't Sleep . . .