This bar on the lower east side impresses for a number reasons. It's discreet -- some may say, hard to find. The bartenders are true mixologists. There is no Cosmo on the cocktail list. When they say fresh lime juice, they mean squeezed upon order as opposed to poured out of faux lime. The cocktails are inexpensive -- averaging about $13. And best of all, when one of the bartenders had to cough (a dry cough; not a sick cough; I know my coughs), he coughed into his sleeve as opposed to all over the martini glasses. Hit.
Three verifiable things about me. One. I am an only child. The concept of sharing, therefore, is foreign to me. Two. I am a Virgo. The sign regarded as a perfectionist. Three. My mother raised me to be meticulously clean; compulsively tidy. According to my mother, "You have taken this clean thing way too far." I disagree. Apologies to my mother.
Nature or nurture? Who knows? Who cares? I have not been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nor would I label myself a Cleanaholic. Or a Germaphobe. My world though, is definitely a unique place. One where doors open magically. Hotel mattresses are pristine. And estheticians never double dip.
I live in this world without a bubble or a honeycomb mask. About 15 years ago I got tired of catching the flu du jour and became ever more so hygienically vigilant -- perhaps obsessively so.
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