John Collins: A refreshing balance of gin and club soda, garnished with lemon, and a maraschino cherry, but is coincidentally the name of your ex’s new lover.
Leite de Onça: A viscous concoction made in part from sweetened condensed milk. The cloying smack of your old flame’s favorite drink. Also, you have no idea how to pronounce this.
Tom Collins: Similar to the John Collins, but more restorative, intellectual, and good-looking. Although, you won’t order a Tom Collins because that happens to be your name, while your brother’s is John.
Paloma: The nostalgic taste of the woman you thought was the one. Overwhelming aftertastes of knowing you should never have introduced Paloma to John.
Sex on the Beach: There’s no way you’re shouting “SEX ON THE BEACH, PLEASE” over the too loud music to the hairy bartender because it’s the hard-to-swallow mixture of vodka, orange juice, salt water, sand, driftwood, and jealousy of what your dream girl and your snake of a brother did last night.
Sex in the Driveway: Much the same as their loud intimacy on the beach but with the orange juice replaced with curaçao and the sand replaced with compacted dirt.
Old Fashioned: The slightly too peaty aromatic of wondering if you’re old fashioned for expecting a couple to at least try to stifle their grunts and moans when going at it in public.
Sex on the Bitchen Bench of your Family Home While You’re Visiting for Holidays: The acidic backwash after walking in on your heart’s desire and Judas John mashing their bodies together right where you used to eat your Honey Nut Cheerios.
Sex in the Spa: The sharp bubbly unashamed texture that rendered the spa unusable for everyone else.
Sex in the Shower: The intrusive palate of your true love and your nemesis getting it on in the one place you could have gone to weep in solitude.
Sex on the Bunk Bed You Used to Share with John When You Kere Kids: The unsavory mix of childhood memories with the sounds and movements of your beloved and your dirtbag of a brother’s lovemaking on the top while you try to sleep on the bottom.
Tommy’s Paloma: The stinging taste of grapefruit and lime juice rimmed with salt rubbed in your wounds. Served chilled with the knowledge Paloma was once yours.
Manhattan: The bitter-sweet reminiscent profile of where you dreamed of finding a good-paying job with decent hours, romantically proposing, getting a mortgage, and then raising a family with Paloma. Where your soulmate and your backstabbing brother now apparently live.
Sex on the Backseat of Your 1992 Honda Civic: The sour tang of packing up to head home early from an underwhelming holiday only to get into your car to find the unmistakeable smell of a Leite de onça and Paloma and John’s butt moldings imprinted on your vinyl seats.
Dark ‘n Stormy: The distaste of the current state of your relationship with John.