The Anxiety of Picking the Perfect Date Drink

AHHHHHHH!!!!

12.08.16
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I have never had to throw a drink in my date’s face. I’m glad there hasn’t been a reason to, and in terms of taking Michelle Obama’s We Go High Route, it’s probably not the best move. I just think it’s such a glamorous and unnecessarily dramatic “F-you” that I’d like to experience before I die. It’s like the middle finger of the 1940s. The old Hollywood Take that, ya prick! (As said in a mid-Atlantic accent.) No one dresses up anymore!

Here’s the thing. If I were to have the opportunity, no way would I have the right drink in hand. I’m excellent at first dates but terrible at ordering on-a-date drinks due to a unique type of anxiety that overtakes me the moment a waitress pops up. It is as though I’ve never heard of any of these crazy things on the menu in my whole life. “WHAT IS WINE!?” I scream. Usually, it’s as though I can’t even read.

Here’s my thought process:

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I can’t do vodka soda because that will make me look like I’m trying to go out after.

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No to vodka soda and a juice mixer because then I’ll feel like I’m part of a table at a bad club. Also, juice or soda with alcohol gives me college-drinking flashbacks.

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Ordering champagne on a first date is rogue because like, what the fuck am I celebrating?

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Prosecco is cute in theory but you can only drink from a fluted glass one of two ways: 1) really dramatically where your head tilts back to get the liquid in or 2) to avoid the dramatic pour-down-the hatch, you have to tuck your whole face back and it makes everyone look like a double-chinned turtle.

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If you order the bar’s specialty cocktail, it says nothing about your personality. Plus, if things work out with you and your date, your potential future partner is going to have a much harder time identifying “your signature drink.” And that’s one of those things you’re going to want your partner to know (but he/she probably won’t because who does, which will start a fight. It’s the little things!).

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A martini is classy. Here’s the thing, though: the glass is impossible to drink from without spilling. It’s as if it had been ergonomically designed not for sipping but for trouser-drenching. Ugh, and if you order your martini dirty, then you’re beholden to a “dirty” joke…I don’t know. (A martini, however, would be an excellent candidate for drink throwing.)

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If I get a beer, I’ll have to pee too much.

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Ramona from Real House Wives of New York ruined white wine in public for me.

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Rosé gives you terrible hangovers, plus in New York City, it’s considered seasonal.

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Red wine means purple teeth and falling asleep.

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A margarita, my favorite, feels way too much like a summer drink.

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If you order tequila on the rocks it’s like whoa, okay, hard day on the ranch there, cowboy?

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Gin and tonics will give you grandpa breath.

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As for the ultimate cool-ass drink to order on a date, the height of sophistication, the ultimate power move? Whiskey, either neat or on the rocks, not mixed with Coke or as a shot. My main problem here is that I think they taste like Band-Aids.

Usually what ends up happening is I panic. Order something weird. And promise myself that I’ll think this through the next time. Justttt in case I need to toss one back in the other direction.

Illustration by Maria Jia Ling Pitt; follow her on Instagram @heysuperstar.

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