It was just that kind of day.
I got home, peeled off my mittens--I still can't find my leather driving gloves--hung up my coat, tossed my purse and school bag into my "office" (the corner between the livingroom table and loveseat), and made my way into the kitchen where I immediately commissioned Jared to assemble the vermouth, vodka, olives, and cocktail shaker. Rooting around for the glass, I said, "It's February, you know? They should not be disappointing me like this anymore."
"I know, Mom," he said. "...But we're out of olives. I bought some nice pinot grigio today. How about that instead?"
"Look in the bottom shelf, way in the back," I said knowingly. "It's a dirty martini or nothing. Trust me."
"How can you drink martinis? What about a Cosmo? I'll go back out and get some cranberry juice and I'll have a Cosmo with you," he said, obviously hearing echoes of some dusty warning mantra of never drink alone.
"Aha!" My foray into the unknown of the refrigerator had proven successful. Giant green olives, pimentoes poking promiscuously forth, were in my grasp! I pushed past him to the counter and arrayed my arsenal: Three Olives vodka, Martini & Rossi dry vermouth, shot glass, freebie cocktail shaker from Express (a gift-with-purchase from Christmas shopping!), and the olives. I was in business.
I swiveled quickly and hit the lever on the icemaker, filling the shaker with ice, then measured the requisite ingredients. I paused, calculating just how "dirty" I wanted this martini to be. I considered my day. Throwing caution to the winds, I added two heaping spoons of olive brine to the mix. I wanted to be dirty, baby, real dirty! Piling three huge olives into my tigerstriped martini glass, all that was left then was to shake.
I thought of the student who had not yet turned in one single assignment since the new semester had started on January 16th. I thought of the students who had signed up to be on the staff of my literary magazine in September but had not yet turned in one, single, solitary poem or story. I thought of the teacher who used my room for his study hall 8th period and started off by saying, "Now, I'm not strict...!" I thought of the secretary who made me fill out a requisition form in triplicate for a box of paper clips. AND I SHOOK THAT MARTINI.
And then I poured it out and went to my computer. I sipped and enjoyed and relaxed. And I wrote this blogpost.