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Pink, Fruity and Frosted

Pink, Fruity and Frosted

Back in the early 1990s, Canadian comedy troupe The Kids in the Hall did a skit called “Girl-Drink Drunk.” In the skit, a man who doesn’t drink is talked into consuming a fruity cocktail because it’s only a “girl drink,” implying it somehow has less punch than a manlier scotch.

Of course, what follows is a descent into the world of “girl drinks,” ending with our hapless hero, now destitute and homeless, paying kids to buy Freezies he doctors with cheap liquor and a much-used cocktail umbrella.

I can sympathize. While I don’t overindulge, I have an uncanny knack for ordering “girl drinks.” My wife finds it hilarious. For my part, I’m resigned to the fact if I order a cocktail or flavored martini on vacation, it’s going to be a) pink, b) come in a coconut or plastic novelty container and c) will have be garnished with at least three pieces of fruit, an orchid and a swizzle stick shaped like a malformed flamingo.

Living the Dangerous Life of the Cocktail Drinker

Okay, I have to admit, I have a sweet tooth. That alone leads me to order cocktails which might, in a gender-biased world, be seen as feminine. And if I’m lounging by a resort pool idly wondering how I can learn more about poolside service, that’s fine.

If I’m sitting in a bar and the local biker club walks in just as the bartender hands me a drink that looks like two pineapples, a coconut and a bottle of Midori had a terrible blender accident, well, let’s say I chose my drinking spots with more care nowadays.

Even when I try to order more “manly” drinks I wind up with a frosted glass and chocolate shavings. What could be manlier than the martini, the drink of choice of debonair British super-spies? Like many people, I like flavored vodkas, but I swear, I could order a martini made from vodka infused with man-sweat and the tears of my enemies and it would still arrive pink, garnished with a maraschino cherry carved into the shape of a small puppy.

Going with the Flow

I realized I had a choice to make. I could stick to beer, scotch and other straight, manly spirits, or I could accept myself for what I am — a drinker of fruit-infused tropical drinks with enough garnishes to make a full meal.

I chose the latter, because when it comes right down to it, I really don’t care what the guy at the next table thinks as I sip my drink from a glass shaped like a tiki idol. And if he wants to make something out of it, we can step outside and I’ll skewer him with a sharpened flamingo swizzle stick.

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