Slumming

Something was wrong with the taste.

Subsequent to some behavioral dynamics, figured it out.

Had sort of a Proustian moment, but obverse. Where his Madelaine brought him back in a flood of memory, I rather sought them in a sip. Labor Day pool parties and barbeques on Long Island at the McQuades. The grown-ups drinking daiquiris and citrus concoctions. I'd pilfer a sip and sought to replicate it yesterday. 

So asked for a Tom Collins, which I guess I got confused with a Screwdriver. I knew it was a mix and booze. Have never had one before. Without said citrus solution, Francesca did one up and it tasted fine. Happenstance had me visit with a couple from Long Island. Good conversation. One was enough for me. 

But then, upon settling in for the DBack game and thinking perhaps a conversation with she who must be whatever, had another. It was not right. Not sweet enough nor fruity. Very flat and tart. The relieving bartender was not much concerned. 

A fellow I had been friendly with, remembering his name and saying hello, got very condescending. The nerve of some people... no one looks down their nose at me. Makes a comment I took as a put-down; not the first time. I got angry but handled it magnificently. The drink was still very wrong.

When I paid the tab, after tasting the erstwhile jet fuel, I knew.

It was well gin. Not Bombay. There was no herb. No juniper. No concern.

No conversation. Issues remain suspended in a ridiculous stand-off.

Evidently she prefers some sort of burlesque to respectful transactions.

The DBacks are still streaking!