A simple project, really--caulking the bathroom tub. But
I think I was doing a couple things wrong. For one, you should push it like a snowplow; I was
pulling it like a locomotive.
SLS walks into the bathroom, looks at the tub, and then
at me. I'm covered in chalky caulk. I look like I'm made of paper maché.
She says, "Hmm. How do you feel about a couple
I feel pretty good about a couple martinis.
I hand her my smoothing tool and go to work.
Patience is the key to my martinis. (Patience is probably
also the key to caulking the bathtub, but that’s a lesson I am yet to learn.) I shake
the ice first, you see; it shatters the big cubes; and then I let the gin, dry vermouth, and a
shake of orange bitters sit for a moment in the broken ice. The smaller sherds of
ice melt, softening the edges off the gin. Then I stir and pour. Stirred, and it's clear as
a glass of cold water. Tonight, I drop in a vermouth-addled cocktail onion and twist in a slice
of lemon peel.
In the meantime, SLS has taken a cloth and smoothed out
the gloppy chunks and wiped away the wicked smears of my caulking job. In fact, it's perfect. It's what I was aiming for but couldn't quite hit.
"Beautiful," I say.
I hand her a cold, clear martini. We work as a team.