I was so…so…so very irritated. Close to midnight, I was still working…no, let me rephrase that…I was still staring at my screen after what seemed like hours and hours. God, it was almost spring, winter was finally coming to an end and thank whatever higher power you believe in, leggings and turtlenecks were now last season’s fashion and about to be shoved in boxes and banished to the attic where they belong.
Midnight…and I was still working, but no…that’s not why I was irritated. I was used to the long, thankless hours…pouring over catalogs, previews from the designers, trying on the samples they sent…god, that alone could take most of my day. No…it was the bar on the corner by my apartment building. It was open and I needed a drink…a martini.
Gin or vodka?
The “bartender’s” question struck a nerve. There is no such thing as a Vodka Martini. Period. Full stop, end of story, this is not open for debate. Coat the inside of a chilled martini glass with vermouth, add the gin, straight from the freezer…an olive and a splash of the brine…no ice, no shaken-not-stirred nonsense…just a simple, perfect martini. I left…in disgust…another establishment given their one chance and crossed off the list…
Why was I up until midnight? By the time I left the bar, found a liquor store open that late and had properly chilled the gin and the glass, it was late…so late that work had long since been forgotten. And with my second martini in hand, I sat there in my office, the glow from the screen illuminating the room…with things other than clothes and fashion on my mind now…
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