My Cocktail Has a Sword

Mr. Goodwrench hauled me back to the Loco Lizard for more pumpkin molé Friday. I made excessive fun of the fact that the de rigueur accessories in Park City are bulky North Face down parkas (so enormously puffy that their wearers had difficulty just fitting through the door, and the servers often had to find alternate routes through the restaurant due to the solid ballast of discarded jackets clogging the aisles) and live babies. (It is my opinion that the human race is reproducing at a far more rapid rate than is really necessary, just for the sake of fashion. “Marv, you’re not listening to me! Gwyneth and Julia and Britney are sporting them! I have to have one!”)

Later I helped Mr. Goodwrench pick out some Dr. Martens at the outlet mall. (“Where are the high-tops?” “Everything in here is gawdawful. Is this supposed to be a bowling shoe?” “Look, if you don’t help me out here, I’ll be stuck in the 80’s forever.”) He paced up and down the aisle in the sleek black boots I selected, looking pensive. “There’s a funny feeling under the ball of my foot.”

“Something uncomfortable? Do they hurt?”

“No. It feels like a bubble. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well they’re AirWair.” I picked up one of his ragged Sketchers, a flat, shapeless skateboard shoe, scowled at the sole. “Oh, here’s your problem. That funny feeling? That’s you not feeling the ground.” He laughed and blushed and wore the new Docs out of the store, had the cashier throw the box away with his old shoes inside.

At the restaurant, I was fairly excited to discover that the cherry and lime slice in my piña colada were skewered together by a tiny green plastic saber. I remember fiercely coveting these colorful novelties as a little girl. Dad drank non-decorous gin and tonics, so he rarely had one for me, but it seemed that Mom always remembered when she went to parties (which was extremely rare). One of the things I recall looking forward to as a child was growing up and being able to order a drink with a sword, or one of those little printed paper parasols (which also absolutely thrilled me for some reason). It never occurred to me that, as an adult, I would be able to buy them by the gross if I wanted to, or that by the time I could, I would be far more interested in the drink than its accessory. Alas, how time changes our perspective.