Last night was our first outdoor barbeque. A lady in purple sweatpants and a red, somewhat beaten up cowboy hat approaches. The hat, it seems, must sit in the top of the closet but for the three times a year it comes to the ranch.
"Are you the main bartenders?" she asks.
We stare at her.
"Are you the main ones from inside? 'Cause last night I had a drink from the one by the pool and it was too much cranberry, too much lime. And too little vodka."
He assures the lady that he is indeed competent enough to make a cosmopolitan. And he does. And it's...
"Perfect. Just Right...ooh, but a little too full. Look at me, I'm spilling everywhere."
She turns back to her husband one fist clutching the drink, one had on the bar. And stays. A line forms behind her. They start giving orders over her head. One sip later she turns around.
"Can I have one ice cube please?"
One quarter turn and back talking to her husband. Still clutching the bar. Another minute later,
"Can I have one more ice cube?"
This repeats, sip by sip, for the first two thirds of the drink. Then,
"Can you add just a leetle more vodka. Not too much, you know, just a top off."
I add a shot.
"Oh perfect. Thats just right. It needed a little bit more. *conspiratorially* I won't tell anyone." *smirk* *wink*
She finally walks away. I reach for her ticket and charge her for it.
Her husband was another charmer. He refused to wait in line at all, expecting to sidle up to the wine side of the bar, and sort of sneak his glass my direction.
"Oh here. Could you just? Thanks, hon."
Hon. I hate the word "hon" from men in the bar. Right up there with "sweetheart." Never, "you're a sweetheart." Always, "Would you be a sweetheart and..." I've had very few "darlings" --usually from 'Good ol' boys"-- and a couple of "luvs" -- the occasional British patron -- but most often "hon." "Hon" is a cocktail waitress at Hooters. (Wait, I think I'm splitting hairs here)
But I digress. He did this all night. Sidle up. Whisper. Sliiiiiide the glass.
Oh, summer is upon us...
*I feel I should insert here that I don't dislike terms of indearment in general. After four years of being "honey" in Texas, you get rather enamored. I just dislike them from drunk patrons...*