Push Over

These past few weeks I’ve come to the realization that I am quite the push over. How depressing. I have always taken pride in the fact that I’m pretty easy to get along with but maybe that’s just because in most cases I do what the other person wants to do, whether I like it or not. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me, but some people take advantage of that and walk all over me.

I started realizing this more and more a few weekends ago at Jessica’s bachelorette party. We had a great time in Bricktown, and I got to eat at the Melting Pot for the first time! I highly recommend the love martini, which was fabulous, as well as the dessert. However, I found the meat portion of the meal a little unappetizing because they serve it to you raw! Not my cup of tea.

I would have to say this is the prettiest and best tasting martini I've ever had!

This is called the flaming turtle and it was awesome!

Anyway, back to my story. After dinner, we went to Skyy Bar, which isn’t typically my scene, but it was a special occasion and Jessica felt like dancing. I wanted to buy her a drink, so I pushed my way through the crowd and waited patiently to order from the lady behind the bar (I use this term loosely because she was not dressed like one). Over the crowd, I placed an order for two amaretto sours.

I’m not much of a drinker, and I know very little about alcohol. But when it comes to that drink, I would consider myself an expert. Every single time I go out, that’s what I order because it’s one of the very few alcoholic beverages I actually like. So when the bartender poured it, I noticed that it looked funny. It wasn’t dark enough. I handed over my check card anyway and decided to take a sip to see what it tasted like. It was super sweet and had an overwhelming, distinct flavor that we later decided must have been butterscotch – definitely not what I ordered. When she returned with my receipt, I said, “There must be a mistake this is not an amaretto sour.” She gave me a mean look and shouted, “You sat there and watched me pour it.” By this time there was quite a line waiting behind me, and I was losing my nerve. I tried one last time to convince her she had made a mistake, but it was no use. Finally I just signed it (needless to say, without leaving a tip), took the drinks and went back to my group.

What a chicken. Why would I do that? That’s $12 wasted ($24 by the time I reordered from another bartender). I suppose the moral of the story is that being agreeable and getting taken advantage of are two different things. I need to learn to avoid the latter – and grow some balls while I’m at it!

Hannah, Jessica's sister and matron of honor, did a great job planning all the festivities! We all had a fabulous time!