The other night, I went out to a very nice dinner with a very nice man and I had a fantastic time. The morning after, I tweeted:
Yes, dear readers, I ordered a Key Lime Martini1. Of course, I immediately regretted it–it was fucking awful. I told my date I thought it looked like a martini glass full of Superman’s ejaculate–opaque light green, frothy, and possibly, containing some Kryptonite2 derivative that might drain me of my powers and render me weak and useless.
A few hours after I tweeted, “What would possess me to try a Key Lime Martini?” I received this anonymous message via the “ask me” page on the blog:
Since the writer was anonymous, I figure I might as well respond to the message here, right?
I don’t order drinks to impress men. I ordered a Key Lime Martini because I wanted a Key Lime Martini.
But what if I don’t want a traditional martini? Maybe I should just order a traditional martini anyway, just to be sure I impress my date?
I knew what I wanted. I wanted a Key Lime Martini and I got a Key Lime Martini. (And unfortunately, I don’t always know what I want, and I’m not going to pretend.)
I don’t flirt with olives or onions, nor do I use olives or onions as props to flirt with men. Sucking on an olive or gently tonguing an onion at the table seems a little classless to me.
I don’t go out with “the girls.” Regardless of who I go out with, typically, I drink vodka tonics or whiskey (straight, neat). And I hate to beat the horse corpse, but I ordered a Key Lime Martini because I wanted one.
1 Key Lime Martini Recipe, courtesy of Emeril Lagasse. I’m warning you, don’t try it. It’s fucking awful.
2 I know. I know. Superman is vulnerable to Kryptonite, but that’s why I said “Kryptonite derivative.” Besides, it sounded good at the time.