A Love Story, by Mary Wells

Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring, I like a very dry gin martini on the rocks with lemon peel before dinner. I didn’t grow up drinking wines at dinner or beer in college. When I got to New York I was the only woman in town who sat at a bar drinking water with advertising clients. I looked around at the ladies in hats with cigarette holders and I studied movies and it seemed to me that martinis were the height of sophistication. I decided to love them. It took me a long time to fall in love, three or four years, and nothing else tempted me.

By the time I could drink a whole martini without consequences I had also learned to like a good glass of wine with dinner. And that is it for me – no matter what the season. I marvel at the amount of beer men can drink, even very fit fellows, and at the vodka cocktails my girlfriends can drink and still dance in those skyscraper heels they are all wearing. I like danger but not liquid danger. Except once in a very long while, with just the right person, on a ravishing Italian night, when I am in the mood to be madly in love, I like a little Grappa. Absinth will do. I like what they do to my conversation, to my style.

Comments are closed.