Just Like Any Other

As you know, I'm a girl that fucks Jefferson and I drink bourbon. Blah blah blah. Clichè. So I read this NYT article with interest. It was, as you can imagine, pretentious and ridiculous. And Maker's Mark did not come out well in the blind taste test.

Dumb, I say, as my recent trip home for Thanksgiving was made rather incomplete when the bartenders looked at me with bewilderment when I ordered my usual "Maker's Mark on the rocks, easy on the rocks."

I have never wanted so badly to be in the south, I texted Nick.

Haha, he wrote back, I'm on my third Maker's with my grandmother.

By the time we reached the third bar, I gave up and just ordered a beer straightaway. When the bartender asked me for me ID, I gave him an incredulous look.

"Hey, I gotta ask everyone," he said.

"No, no, I understand," I said, pulling my driver's license out of my wallet.

Turning to a friend, I whispered, "You'd think that he wouldn't need to look at my ID, seeing as the dude's dick has been in my mouth."

It's true, several years ago, I had given the bartender a blow job.

After I ordered my third beer, I slid a bill across the bar for the bartender to make change.

He waved it away.

"No, no," he said, "This one's on the house. I didn't realize who you were before."

I win!