I would like to tell you something, because thatís what I do around here, is tell you stuff. I just made a drink. I dropped in the ice, I squeezed in the lime, I poured in the club soda, and I dumped in the gin. Then I got distracted looking for a stir stick. I generally use a pencil that hangs out on my desk, but I guess it had better places to be, because it was nowhere to be found. Sometimes Iíll use my finger, but I was messing around with all kinds of ground beef earlier, and although Iíve washed my hands numerous times, they still smell a bit like Worcestershire sauce, and I didnít want to contaminate my poison. I finally settled on a plastic chopstick I picked up in NYC a long time ago. I bought a pack of them in Chinatown, mostly for souvenir purposes, although sometimes Iíll break Ďem out if Iím feeling a little pretentious while I eat my Ramen noodles.
I came back to my desk and opened my word processing program and took a huge drink from my special Sunday Night Drinking Glass. My Sunday Night Drinking Glass is this weird old-timey-looking red glass that reminds me of what my grandpa used to drink his bourbon out of when he got up in the middle of the night to sneak a drink. I donít use it exclusively on Sunday nights, but thatís generally how it works out, because I do dishes on the weekends, so Sunday night is the only night itís clean.
But back on track: I took a big drink. You may have noticed that Iíve been maddeningly boring in my description process up to this point. Did you notice that part where I stirred my drink? No you did not.
My first gulp was straight gin. Straight, warm gin, two big swallows before I realized something was wrong. It was not a good thing.
I think the moral of the story is that you should probably just drink your warm gin straight out of the bottleóthat way you at least know what youíre getting.