I will take the Manhattans, and I'll surprise you with a stupid (not surpising) romantic short tale(a blurb, really, not even a vignette) of Real Life to explain why.

Last summer I fell rather hard for a very inexplicable person - inexplicable in that I could, and cannot, define what it is that is so attractive about him to me. The mystery may even be part of it at this point. It was a wildly undefined summer thing but I was crazy about him; neither of us were really good to each other. He messed up in a Bad Way that I found out about, and made me very sad but it was the impetus to kick him out, which needed to happen. I was hung up over him all winter and still think about him now. I know that chapter is closed but oh, did I really like him. And I think - and I've written poems about how I think - he liked me a lot too. [1]

The meat of this in comparision I'm afraid is very brief, but in the beginning, when it was good, I remember one night when he got unexpectedly ripped on Manhattans (they were stronger than he realized) and I drank rum-and-diets and shots of whiskey and we staggered out of the bar together into the summer night. It would've been warm and humid; we walked down a back path he showed me to his house under stars and dim lamps and lightning bugs. [2] Mosquitoes, cicadas, and frogs beneath the traffic and we went back to his house where we had a no-pants in bed rule and fought between watching X-Men (my choice), Avatar or Futurama (his choices). (The animated series on all counts, guys.)

I want to drink Manhattans. For sentiment. And I've never had one and rye whisky may be too tough for me to drink no matter what, anyway. An adventure, I'm committed.

[1] Factual Emily here: It's nice to think he did, but it doesn't really matter, because how he treated me is what matters. I'll never understand what's in his head or know how he feels and it's better I not try. I know.

[2] Hoping this isn't too saccharine. I'm remembering how good it was, I'm sure I'm romanticizing. But it felt this way.