I know people favor a world filled with choices, but I think in my old - or older - age, I'm really not enjoying the power to choose. Too many choices is just getting annoying, to be quite honest. If I'm spending my day trying to figure out how to get that not-recently-washed look in my hair, I just don't have the time or mental energy to discern among numerous options.
Recently, a would be suitor proposed to make a great martini for me. Loving a good martini - or even a bad one - I, of course, accepted the offer.
So it turns out that martini night happened to follow a challenging day. It wasn't a bad day, by any means. It was just long. Very long. And fraught with a diversity of work-related activities. A good day overall, just a bit on the tiring side.
So the strategy was to drink martinis. Not the loftiest of goals, but a plan nonetheless. I finished my day and made my way to a different part of town in order to be closer to the martini action.
By the time I arrived at my destination, I was somewhere between wiped and relaxed. The anticipation of vegging out while someone else served up the goodies was exciting. I couldn't wait to just take off my shoes and my jacket, put my feet up and think about nothing in particular.
The suitor in question had been to the store. Not Safeway, but a fancy store. If he hadn't told me about the shopping excursion, I would have been able to guess by the jar of olives. No Green Giant olives in that house. No. These olives were serious. I would have dressed nicer if I had realized how expensive the olives would be.
So then came the question. He raised his brow in a teasing, suggestive way and asked "can I make you a drink?"
He may as well have asked if he could give me a million dollars in cash. The answer was yes. I had spent the whole day dreaming of the moment before me...nothing to do or think about but swallowing the silky, cold liquid that would help to numb my senses and confine my attempts at dialog to monosyllables.
I nodded yes with one sweeping gesture of enthusiasm and anticipation. The gesture at once said "bring it on" and "bring on any other good things you got around here."
So he brought it on.
But not immediately. First there was the question of whether I wanted vodka or gin.
"Surprise me," I said lazily. Luckily, I love both varieties of martini, so it didn't matter which form my poison took that night.
"Do you want olives or onions or both?"
"Olives," I said, maintaining a pleasant smile that distracted from the bubble over my head that said "Just give me a goddamn drink!"
"Grey Goose, Cristall, Krolewska, Youri Dolgoruki or Absolut?"
At this point, I started looking for the hidden camera. Was this line of questioning a joke? Maybe I'm just getting old, but it seems to me that a guy in possession of a girl who just wants a drink would want to HURRY the process rather than delaying it.
Okay. The truth is, I don't remember what happened next. I may or may not have held my tongue. I'm not quite sure. I do know that I eventually got my drink. And I seem to recall that it was delicious.
And I have no idea what was in it and I don't particularly care. Because sometimes you just want a drink. Without the umbrellas, plastic swords or third degree.