Paul is in there. Don't embarrass yourself because she wasn't woman enough to end this the right way."
CRASH!
"You told me not to call her, so this is what I'm doing instead!"
*Sigh*
"Are you actually going to force me to kick your ass on your wedding day to get you to stop?"
"It's not my wedding day anymore!"
"Saint if you don't put that table down, I swear to God I'm going to have to put you down."
"I don't fucking care–"
WHAP!
SABRINA
Three years ago
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
"What can I get you?"
A female bartender who is probably in her twenties, but looks like she's pushing forty because of the bags under her eyes and her leathery skin, asks me for my drink order. Problem is that I don't really drink.
It's one of the many things I have given up to stay at my goal weight which is actually pretty high for my height, so I have to be careful; but tonight I want to feel like someone other than myself. Even if it's only temporary. Even if it's just smoke and mirrors. And I know that alcohol can help me get there.
"What do you recommend?" I ask. Her face may look hard, but so is her body. So I'm guessing that she knows a thing or two about staying fit. "I want to order a drink or two tonight, but I don't want to consume a lot of extra calories."
"Do you like red wine?"
"I don't usually drink alcohol at all, so I don't particularly like any one thing."
"Then may I ask what's your reason for wanting to drink tonight?"
She asks her highly unusual question (for a bartender anyway) while drying the inside of a wine glass with a soft white cloth.
"A guy. Well basically all men."
"Understood." She smiles briefly. "Then shots are the way to go."
"Shots?"
"Yeah, it's the mixers that are highly caloric like fruit juice or soda. If you drink straight liquor I promise that you will arrive to your destination much quicker with little to show for it around your hips."
"That sounds like exactly what I'm looking for."
"Are you on a budget?"
"Not really." I'm using my company credit card tonight.
"Then Patron shots are the way to go. It's a premium tequila."
"Eww, with the worm inside?"
"Absolutely not," she snickers. "This is an upscale, smooth tasting tequila. Great for margaritas and also for shots and no worms."
Sounds like what I'm looking for.
"Okay, give me two."
"Coming right up."
I've never done shots before, although I've seen college kids do a million of them, but I was never that girl in school. I was a scholarship kid carrying a 3.9 GPA. I never had the time or inclination to spend my nights getting drunk and possibly date raped at frat parties. I was always in the library, and parties were never my scene anyway.
The bartender never introduces herself to me by name or much less cracks a smile. She's not warm and fuzzy like the ones I've seen on television shows and in movies; but at least she's helpful. Her goal is to get me drunk or at least feeling better, and I'm thinking she understands because she has some pretty interesting war stories about men of her own.
She demonstrates how I should drink my shots for the full experience. Shaking the bar salt on my hand, then licking the salt, drinking the shot (with haste), and then chasing it by sucking on a wedge of lemon or lime. I like that there is a ritual behind this shot taking thing, so I catch on fast. The first shot makes my eyes squint, but by the third (or is it fourth) I am feeling way better.
I hear a group of voices coming towards the direction of the bar and my stomach drops. This is it. It has to be new guy's voice I hear among the sea of voices. I wonder if I've ingested enough liquid courage to finally talk to him about something other than mundane topics such as how the microwave works on the third floor lounge or the weather forecast.
I never quite mastered the art of flirting and because of that character flaw, I've ended up only dating a few guys, and they were all guys who I was set up with by friends.
CRASH!
"You told me not to call her, so this is what I'm doing instead!"
*Sigh*
"Are you actually going to force me to kick your ass on your wedding day to get you to stop?"
"It's not my wedding day anymore!"
"Saint if you don't put that table down, I swear to God I'm going to have to put you down."
"I don't fucking care–"
WHAP!
SABRINA
Three years ago
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
"What can I get you?"
A female bartender who is probably in her twenties, but looks like she's pushing forty because of the bags under her eyes and her leathery skin, asks me for my drink order. Problem is that I don't really drink.
It's one of the many things I have given up to stay at my goal weight which is actually pretty high for my height, so I have to be careful; but tonight I want to feel like someone other than myself. Even if it's only temporary. Even if it's just smoke and mirrors. And I know that alcohol can help me get there.
"What do you recommend?" I ask. Her face may look hard, but so is her body. So I'm guessing that she knows a thing or two about staying fit. "I want to order a drink or two tonight, but I don't want to consume a lot of extra calories."
"Do you like red wine?"
"I don't usually drink alcohol at all, so I don't particularly like any one thing."
"Then may I ask what's your reason for wanting to drink tonight?"
She asks her highly unusual question (for a bartender anyway) while drying the inside of a wine glass with a soft white cloth.
"A guy. Well basically all men."
"Understood." She smiles briefly. "Then shots are the way to go."
"Shots?"
"Yeah, it's the mixers that are highly caloric like fruit juice or soda. If you drink straight liquor I promise that you will arrive to your destination much quicker with little to show for it around your hips."
"That sounds like exactly what I'm looking for."
"Are you on a budget?"
"Not really." I'm using my company credit card tonight.
"Then Patron shots are the way to go. It's a premium tequila."
"Eww, with the worm inside?"
"Absolutely not," she snickers. "This is an upscale, smooth tasting tequila. Great for margaritas and also for shots and no worms."
Sounds like what I'm looking for.
"Okay, give me two."
"Coming right up."
I've never done shots before, although I've seen college kids do a million of them, but I was never that girl in school. I was a scholarship kid carrying a 3.9 GPA. I never had the time or inclination to spend my nights getting drunk and possibly date raped at frat parties. I was always in the library, and parties were never my scene anyway.
The bartender never introduces herself to me by name or much less cracks a smile. She's not warm and fuzzy like the ones I've seen on television shows and in movies; but at least she's helpful. Her goal is to get me drunk or at least feeling better, and I'm thinking she understands because she has some pretty interesting war stories about men of her own.
She demonstrates how I should drink my shots for the full experience. Shaking the bar salt on my hand, then licking the salt, drinking the shot (with haste), and then chasing it by sucking on a wedge of lemon or lime. I like that there is a ritual behind this shot taking thing, so I catch on fast. The first shot makes my eyes squint, but by the third (or is it fourth) I am feeling way better.
I hear a group of voices coming towards the direction of the bar and my stomach drops. This is it. It has to be new guy's voice I hear among the sea of voices. I wonder if I've ingested enough liquid courage to finally talk to him about something other than mundane topics such as how the microwave works on the third floor lounge or the weather forecast.
I never quite mastered the art of flirting and because of that character flaw, I've ended up only dating a few guys, and they were all guys who I was set up with by friends.
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