Dear Mr. Bartender,
I trust you. You’re the professional. And trust me when I say this, I’m not looking for a hook-up nor am I flirting with you. I just want a drink. I’m sure in your line of work you’re under the impression that middle-aged women who smile and talk to you, want you for your body. That’s simply not true. We want you for your mixology. Okay, I also want you to pour me a decent drink that’s not watered down since I know any concoction you give me will cost about $10. I want my monies worth. Heck, I’m thinking about my retirement. But here’s my problem, when I tell you I’m out of my “Sex in the City” phase, I expect you to understand. I want a drink that is not too sweet and not too strong. I’m looking for something different. Forget the Long Island Ice Tea, been there done that. Pull-ease do not insult my tastes buds with a Washington Apple shot. Next, you’ll offer me a blended Midori Margarita. The ’90s were great, and so was the drink, but it’s time I move on. But now I have to ask, what the hell were you thinking when you give a woman my age a cocktail containing an energy drink? I could have had a heart attack. Lucky for you I’m in great physical shape, but beware, others are not. Back in my day, we’d have a few drinks, dance all night and then pass out. But I couldn’t sleep, nor could I move after I drank your cocktail and energy drink concoction. I just laid on my bed watching the numbers change on my clock. I couldn’t understand. Then I remember, you said something about Red Bull. I always hated Red Bull, but amazingly enough, it didn’t taste so bad once it was mixed with peach schnapps and whiskey. Never again! Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda, wait for me!
