Emily partner Nate mixed up this Whiskey sour, after he determined the whiskey sour Emily made was much to “pink.” Nate where is the maraschino cherrie? The recipe specifically calls for a maraschino cherrie! Sheesh. MEN.
Whiskey sour’s are supposed to be a classic cocktail, but it really doesn’t seem to have the same sophistication as a Manhattan or an Old Fashioned. I mixed one up, but after one sip, I decided the cherry was the best part — and only after I had dipped it in cold water to remove the taste of the whiskey sour. I’m not much of a drinker, but I adore maraschino cherries and remember when you could steal them off the restaurant bar along with orange slices. The bartender just looked the other way. Nowadays, the cherries and orange slices are under lock and key. Everyone is worried about germs these days.
Not me, though. My mom never made a big deal about clean hands (ok, Mom, I’m sure you did, and I just don’t remember), and I have never made a big deal about it with Cole. There are, of course, the obvious times we should all wash our hands, and I support that fully. On the other hand, I don’t always pay attention to what other people are doing in the bathroom. Am I alone in this?
A girlfriend and I had lunch the other day and made a quick bathroom stop before we left the restaurant. When we I walked out of the bathroom, my girlfriend immediately pointed out that the women before us did not wash her hands. Really? Sorry, I didn’t notice. My friend was shocked! How could I not notice? Um, wait . . . I did notice that she was wearing a very pretty hair clip — does that count?
One year, Cole had a soccer coach that supplied water bottles for practices and games. She not only wrote each player’s name on the water bottle, but she also color coded them with duct tape. Who knew duct tape came in so many colors? Moms kept telling her how ingenious she was, while I was more impressed by how pretty our water bottles looked scattered along the sidelines. When the kids came off the field — being kids — they would reach for the nearest water bottle, which was most often not their water bottle. When the coach noticed, she would scream, “The green water bottle is yours . . . not the orange bottle!” Joe, exasperated, finally pointed out that we might win more games if she coached the kids’ games and stopped coaching their water bottles. She then gave him a lengthy lecture on germs. I will leave the rest of the season to your imagination. We brought our own water bottle from home; the coach did not try to stick a piece of duct tape on it.
A few weeks ago, I was at an event when some church goers began discussing how to avoid shaking hands during the part of the service where members of the congregation are supposed to turn and say “peace be with you” to the germie fool next to them. One person just lightly touches the other person’s shoulder, another just offers the palm of her hand, yet another initiates a church-like high-five . . . I’m telling you, if I went to church, I would be very tempted to grab the person next to me and give him or her a smooch right on the lips. Give me strength!!
When Cole was small, there were the moms who walked around with anti-bacterial soap in their purses. At the park, before snack, they would pull it out and give their kids a bath with it before handing them a carrot stick. They offered it to me countless times as I sent Cole over to the water fountain to give his hands a lick and promise, and wipe them dry on his shorts.
When we host parties at my house, it has always been a tradition to have a giant cooler of soft drinks for the kids. It’s fun driving other parents over the edge and into in-depth corn syrup conversation while their kids slurp can after can of the real thing. I’m evil that way. During the course of evening, half empty cans of coke, root beer, Dr Pepper, and orange soda litter the tables . . . I just finish whichever drink I’m closest too. Who has time to keep track of their own beverage and host a party? Waste not, want not.
I’m all for not sneezing, coughing, or in general, giving cooties to thy neighbor. And yes, if you are of a delicate nature, you should take extra precautions. However, please rest assured that if you get a piece of hair in anything I serve you, I can identify where it came from by its color, so just spit it out and move on to the next bite.
This post had a point somewhere . . . oh, of course, we were musing about Whiskey Sour Day. I didn’t like them, and neither did Emily, but the maraschino cherries tasted just fine.
What about you do you worry about germs? Or not so much so? Odd Loves Company.