Does one come home and do the chores, vacuum, sweep the garage? Is it time to clean up and burn some of the dead branches around the flower bed, that look untidy and can attract termites? Regular termites are a problem with old homes, though not as much as the exploding ones (thermites). (They can do some damage.)
There's things that need doing, but three's also a warm chair, a cold drink. . .
What's that? I have message.
D. - "You do know what night it is, don't you?"
Me - "Oh!, And I'm here drinking a lukewarm diet 7 Up and contemplating chores!" (Warm diet 7 Up, for the uninitiated, tastes like alpaca spit with lemon, but I was out of Green River.)
D. - chuckling.
That night was Scotch Night. (first Monday in the Month with a bunch of interesting folks)
Everyone has their favorite adult beverage. There are as many different types of alcohol as there are people.
When you think of beer - you think of sports and cookouts, gatherings of college friends and more sports. A beer is what I would have out on the patio with the grill, at the pub after a long bike ride with friends on the Monon Trail. It's pretty hard to screw up beer unless you make it light and throw fruit flavors in it.
There's wine - it can be an elegant pairing to gourmet meal or a girls night out flirtation of the senses that can quickly lead to tacky shopping purchases and regrets involving Ibuprofen or an attorney.
And there's Scotch. Scotch is what grownups sip on quiet evenings, sitting around a fire, after a days hunt, for man or beast. It's life contemplated, sitting in a library or den, raising a toast to fine ladies and gentlemen, history and bravery, protectors and conquerors.
There's such rich history in every sip, layers and layers of it.
Scotch Whisky is something to be savored without hurry, the bottle then put aside to carefully wait while you live out the adventures that will be told over its next sup. You drink to enjoy it, not to get a "buzz", the beverage not being the sort that usually ends up with you wearing the cone of shame the next morning.
I should probably be doing chores, I thought to myself, but the tapering glow within my mouth disregards the thought, invulnerable to rebuke. For once in a while you just have to do Scotch Night.
But this last one was something unusual Scotch Night - Pacific Rim Edition.
But it wasn't as bad as the Trader Joe's Scotch Whisky which can be summed up as follows:
Nose - It's a breakfast of Wheaties on the brand new deck overlooking green grass. The wood still looks wet in that one spot. Oh *#(@ it is! I've got oil on me now. Sniff. Wait, is that glue?? I hope not, the party starts soon.
Palate - The smell from the morning deck has faded, darkness falls, someone just lit the citronella candles. You're pretty content though, when you first think about it, cozied up next to the medium bodied honey blond that you just met. So many tastes and scents wafting up around you, the tarp of a bass boat, the smoke from the neighbor's burning yard clippings, you take it all in as you watch the fire die and munch on overly salted beer nuts. Somewhere in the distance is the barest of florals. A familiar scent, soft, yet now cloying. Did you invite a your girlfriend to this shindig?
There is a bitterness, suddenly, at the back of your throat.
Finish - It lingers like a bad memory, the bit of lemon from the iced tea your girlfriend flung in your face as she stomped off, the sweet honeyed blond in her wake, gone before you barely knew her. You are left with sullen barbecue ash and bitter regret.
With water - Slightly improved, but that faint shower curtain smell that lingers only reminds you that you're still showering alone.
No, the Pacific Rim Scotch's weren't on par with Trader Joe's. But I think I will simply sum up my preference for the origin of my Scotch with a photo and call it a night.