In the lead up to Mother’s Day, clueless clods such as myself are buffeted by countless takes on how to best mark the occasion. Many of these helpful hints include ideas for brunch, and most of those brunch menus include cocktails.
It’s almost as if some moms could use a drink. I happen to know one, and she lives in my house. But the mixology in these proposed potables is all wrong. Wrong, I tell you. So I’ve devised some alternative concoctions that seem to better fit the modern spirit. Cheers.
- 1 750 mL bottle of extra shrill Complain
- 3 cups of Orange You Glad I Was Born
- A half-cup of Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.
- A second-guess of Grammadine.
- 12 gallons of patience, sainted, frayed.
Mix ingredients, silently, in a golden chalice of tribute. Garnish with a short-fused cherry. Clean up the mess you’ve made, for once. Serves one.
- 2 ounces of Speedoff Vodka.
- 5 ounces of freshly dented, non-concentrating orange juice.
- A prayer of Angostura Jitters.
Swerve vodka, orange juice and jitters into a bent fender until panic-braked. Serve cold, and preferably not in a ditch somewhere.
- Two ounces of bourbon or rye, such as Old Bland Dad, Old Snorester or No Roses, aged at least 47 years.
- A hefty lout of Uncouth.
- 4 shrugs of Oblivious
- A dash of bitter disappointment.
- Marriagefinito cherries, for garnish.
If you really think you need another drink, buster, stir ingredients in a mixing glass before straining into one of those stadium cups you insist on keeping. Drink while wearing a CPAP mask.
Laundry Island Ice Tea
- One ounce of Absolut Drudgery
- Two ounces of dark and white rum, thoughtlessly mixed by ingrates.
- An ounce of dry gin, still slightly damp for some reason.
- An embarrassment of Commando Tequila.
- A Jigger of favorite leggings, lost forever!
- A shot of triple dog dare you to complain.
- A Tide pod, for garnish.
Spin ingredients vigorously until mixed. Dump into a basket. Leave, unfolded, for three days. Repeat.
- Three ounces of Slippedmymindia Vodka.
- A bulging calendar of Crammedmato juice.
- A few dashes of red or green Fiasco.
- And any of the following garnishes:
- The lunch you left on the counter.
- That sorry bar that passes for breakfast.
- A dinner of ballpark popcorn.
- Stuff about to go bad in the produce drawer.
- Stuff from that one jar at the back of the fridge.
- String cheese.
- Breath mints
- An unsigned permission slip.
- Your incessantly chiming phone.
- Tears of frustration.
Stir vodka and juice in a shaker filled with ice. Strain to remember the last time you had a free day to do anything you wanted. Add garnish. Sigh deeply.
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- Six eye-rolls of Chore-a-Cola, totally unfair.
- An overwrought teen of El Dictador Rum, oppressed.
- A wedge of lame (excuses), for garnish.
Fill a dirty Collins glass not loaded into the dishwasher, for some damn reason, with ice. Mix rum and cola with a steak knife because all the spoons are in the sink. Drink, while listening to protests lasting three times longer than doing the actual chore. Seethe.
- A gust of Blue Caboose Vodka, numbed
- A nice try of Gran Exaggeration
- A slightly crooked base path of lime.
- A steady drizzle of rainberry juice, soggy, but not postponed.
Shake ingredients in a travel mug from the van. Drink sitting in a camp chair, wrapped in two blankets, cheering loudly.
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