I sit alone at the bar, staring listlessly at the whisky glasses in front of me. They glint at me alluringly. A tedious day deserves its moment of wondrous oblivion.
I gingerly pick up the first glass of molten sunshine. I delicately take my first sip and the liquid assaults my senses. Fiery, fierce, smokey and strong; I am catapulted up to heaven. A gorgeous lady comes up to me and sits by my side. She stares at me meaningfully. I am torn between her elegance, and my next sip. Too late, she walks away, carrying with her two flutes of champagne. I can only helplessly follow her path and watch as she intimately strokes her partner’s shoulder with the rim of the flute. Her partner’s singlet seems to shimmer animatedly, in complete sync with her shudder.
I can’t help but be happy for just how besotted with each other, those two are. I return to my thoughts.
She is the Glen of the town. Perfect in every way; classy, popular and affable. She is so gentle on my lips, she is my best friend and always brings a smile to my face. The bartender offers me another, but I politely decline. Our relationship is way too much of a love-hate one. Nevertheless, she’s always my go to gal.
The land of maple and snow produces some very delectable blends. I’m transported towards a veritable banquet of banana crème brulee, mocha gelato and roasted nuts. A middle-aged man and his wife join me at the bar. He’s a loquacious fellow, and on seeing the whisky I’m nursing immediately begins conversing with me. “My wife and I fell in love with each other, over this very whisky,” he said. “It is so round, silky and medium bodied.” I can’t help but being interested. “So, dry yet fruity, with such a long, seamless dried fruit and grain husk accented finish…” is his perfect interpretation. “Why you sitting here all alone?” he says, almost admonishingly. “Come join us…” I politely decline, preferring the company of my loneliness, and my favourite tipple.
Sweetness is sensational, and my next predilection is too sweet to be true. With a naïve soul of Jack (and the beanstalk), but with layers of honey, charisma and valour. I can’t help but notice an altercation beginning in the background. A girl slaps an irksome looking fellow across the face. “We are done!” she shrieks. “It’s my life and only I control it.” At the utterance of those words, almost everyone in the pub stands up. A slow, undulating clap ensues, followed by loud cheering and unabated ovation. The man walks out “with his tail between his legs” …
The woman comes up to the bar and announces to the bartender. “Seems like a good time as any!” “Give me a glass of whatever he’s having.” She then gives me a wink and walks away. She joins a table of men and women who are unwinding after a hard day’s work.
At the height of my contemplations I feel a familiar “disturbance in the force.”
An elegant lady walks up to me. I excitedly clutch my next whisky, hoping to take a sip before she reaches. I’m too slow. Like my current anticipation, she’s unpretentious, serious at times, yet full of spice. She adds an elegance to the magic. She “wears the pants in our family.”
“Sorry I’m late, some of us have to work… I hope you did the dishes today?” Her insinuation is warranted, yet convivial and inoffensive. She knows that I’m a fastidious househubby.
She reproves me for starting without her and insists that we begin anew (the whisky tasting, of course). We dance the night away…
“Honey! I thought you hated Valentine’s Day,” she remarks mischievously, as we get in to the cab.
My equally prompt rejoinder is, “Darling you’re my lovely Valentine.”
“I’ll take the whisky, any day. Atleast, it is never pink, unlike the shirt you’re wearing today.” She replies.
We both laugh unreservedly…
Story contributed by AGGIE THE ALIEN