Somewhere in Washington DC
For some time now a pest has been pressuring me to abandon something I love - my Grey Goose vodka martini with olives. He claims that a Hendricks Gin Martini is miles better. When dining at The Source last week, this individual tried to convince me that Hendricks was the way to go - luring me in with his sweet voice, using his oh-so charming way about him to convince me to take a sip of his gin martini. For a moment, as I sat there looking into his bright blue eyes, hearing his rustic voice and feeling the muscles in his arm that pressed up against mine - I actually considered switching. The taste of the Hendricks martini resembled spring, something fresh and exciting, something unexplored, uncertain, and possibly unstable. "Try it, it's time you moved on. Your old drink is old news." I thought to myself, maybe my 10 year hiatus from gin was finally coming to an end. Maybe that bad night in college with those gin and tonics that resulted in me sweating gin out of my pores for 48 hours straight could finally be put to rest. I had actually started changing - I was willing to forge ahead into a new world. I decided at that moment, the next martini I ordered, would be with gin.
Yesterday I awoke from what felt like a nightmare - I realized what I had done! The blasphemy I had committed! I had given up something I knew I loved for something that provided me with no guarantees. What if the next bar didn't serve Hendricks. What if they served it with a different gin, like Beefeater?! What if I didn't like Beefeater?! What if Beefeater didn't provide me with the same sense of Spring in the air as Hendricks did?! Can you get Hendricks just anywhere? So many questions! So much uncertainty! What had I done!? I had just abandoned something I knew was good for uncertainty, for no guarantees, for a gamble. I must be a fool. It must have been the gorgonzola olives that clouded my judgment. Grey Goose, I'm coming back, and I won't abandon you again. Hold on.
