The Elvis song… It could have been playing, or not.

– Remember that time you threw yourself at me, screaming that I was being cruel to you?

I do… But to my defense, I was not sober. Not that it excuses harsh words being spoken, but sometimes, it makes things feel more intense… You had filled my glass number of times, watching me loosen my guard, sip after sip. I think you enjoyed it to a certain point, otherwise I don’t understand why you would have spent your best liquors on me.

The alcohol felt warm in my throat, and freed me from holding back, like I usually do. You smiled and pourred me another drink.

Night after night you waited for me at the bar. The first times, I’d barely get tipsy, but you kept the shots coming, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer, until I got glittery eyes. Content of the effect your cocktails had on me, you then called a cab for me and sent me home, night after night…

Everytime, you got me a little drunker, obviously enjoying my playful ways. You laughed at my bad jokes, and smiled when I danced around the stools clumsily, after you put my favorite song on the jukebox for the hundredth time, just to please me…

A the beginning, you served me you own choice of drinks… I didn’t know anything about boozes, and you prepared your mixes spinning your bottles and flipping them over your head, never breaking eye contact. With time, you started asking me what I wanted, from time to time…

• So, what’s your poison tonight, my dear?

As soon as I would have pronounced the name of the drink, you turned around and picked the bottles to prepare my devilish mixture. You’d then put the glass on the bar, wayting for me to take a sip and give you my approval…

One night, in the middle of the giggles and the tipsy chit-chats, you bent on the bar, resting both elbows on the shiny wooden surface, and looked right into my eyes.

• Tell me, are you getting addicted to the booze, darling?

The question caught me off guard. Looking back, I did look like an alcoholic, a bar pillar, that went through my day just to finish it talking to the olive jar on the bar. I turned the interrogation in my head for a few seconds, took a sip to give myself a little more time and told you that I could stop coming every night, but I didn’t see the point.

Time went on for a while…

One night, I passed the bar’s doors for an usual night of partying, or so I thought. You were standing at the bar, but something was different. I sat, smiled at you, and ordered one of your best cocktails, I can’t remember which one….

• How about you show me some ID first?

What? I had spent so many nights here… ID? Really? But you seemed serious, so I took my purse, put it on my lap to give you what you requested.

• You’re not 21. I can’t serve you alcohol! You know that!

Whuuut? I thought you were funning with me at first, thought you were about to crack in your warm laughter and ignore my choice of drink to propose something new you had come up mixing in your free time…  But you were serious, and you showed me the door with a cold look from your usually friendly blue eyes.

I had gone home, after a stop by the liquor store. That night, I wasted myself drinking cheap Tequila right from the bottle, and raged at you. But no matter how much I drank, I just coudn’t chase the idea that you had thrown me out like that from my mind. So I put my coat back on, left my apartment, wobling my way out of the building, and walked back to pay you a visit.

And that’s when it happened. The doorman was probably taking care of some other business, because I was lucky enough to find a free of surveillance door, so I came straight in. And I did rush to the bar to hiss that you had been cruel to me. I had thought about saying more, but sometimes, less does more damage, and I just gave you a look, hoping to touch the guy who up until today, always kept the best stool empty for me.

And then, the doorman grabbed me by the shoulders, and to be honnest, I don’t remember much more from that night…

But you see, my friend… It was my birthday a couple of days ago. It is now perfectly legal for you to serve me some of your magic. I am sorry for my sorry tantrum throwing. You know how women can be sometimes…

So, what mix have you been working on lately? I’d sure like to have a sip of it…