We take our drinkin’ seriously in this house
Let me explain: I come from a long line of dedicated alcoholics. I have, in addition to the usual ferrets who run loose in my brain and generally run the show (they love the sparklies, yes they do), an addict living inside my head. I fight against this fact constantly, because I know my family history and I have no interest in becoming anything like the people who embarrassed, disappointed, and hurt me at every turn for my entire life until I discovered therapy and the “call reject” button.
Because of the above paragraph, we take our drinkin’ seriously in this house. I monitor my intake somewhat obsessively, I must have several Perfectly Acceptable Reasons* for pouring even one glass, I don’t drive if I’ve had a drink at all that day, and we don’t waste our time and money on crap.
Okay, that last thing may be more about not being 22 anymore, but still.
ME: I expect to be drinking these all summer long, k?
HIM: K. Those are actually pretty easy… We don’t have a “martini mixer,” though.
ME: A shaker, you mean?
HIM: Yeah. Just no to the shaker. It doesn’t do the job right.
HIM: The stupid shaker “sets” are for tourist drinkers, people who want to look cool while saying “shaken, not stirred.” Posers.
ME: Tell us how you really feel! Fortunately, you already know I prefer my martinis stirred. So as not to abuse the alcohol.
HIM: The bay breeze is a mixed drink, you wouldn’t ordinarily shake it to mix. Poured over ice, vodka first, oughta do. It wouldn’t hurt to mix in a pint glass and strain into serving glasses, since it’s so much juice. But using a metal martini shaker warms it up, and lets more of the ice melt into the drink. It basically waters it down and ruins the flavor.**
ME: (nodding) The most horrible type of alcohol abuse.
So that happened and we ran right out and bought the fruit juice*** and everything and then didn’t get around to picking up the vodka for a while. Because we don’t keep it in the house, because that is the nectar of my people and it takes up valuable ice cream space in the freezer.
There actually was a bottle in there already, but it’s the cookie dough flavored stuff. Don’t you dare judge me, it’s fucking amazing in milkshakes.
My point, if I may be allowed to get there past your rude looks and muttered commentary, is that we finally got around to buying the vodka and making the drink mentioned above and I want all of you to go and thank Unwed Housewife for my current excellent mood. Because I love her, and everything about her.
And I love you. Each and every one of you.
But mostly, I love vodka.
* Perfectly Acceptable Reasons™ include such simple ones as “we’ve got a giant pizza here and the new Doctor Who, so let’s open that bottle of red because tomorrow I’ve got to clean the damned house” so it’s not a strict “special occasion” system.
** Oh, did I forget to mention that, among his many skills, Husband used to be a bartender? Went to the school for it and everything. Yeah. I’m telling you, marry a Useful Man if you have the opportunity.
*** Word of advice: your choice of juice really matters. Especially the pineapple. Don’t get precious unless you actually like the taste of that organic unsweetened stuff all on its own. I do not, as it turns out, and Husband had to run and get “the stuff they used at the bar.”