Contents under Pressure

An interesting (well, to me!) of my post-divorce life has been discovering an enjoyment of cocktails--and thoroughly exploring that enjoyment on a regular basis. Not to criticize but, for me, 30 years with a mostly abstinent Baptist cum Lutheran did not lend itself to relaxed enjoyment of alcohol. 

Currently, my favorite out-of-the-house drink is the Gimlet (a shout out to DZ, who introduced me to this lovely beverage!) At home, though, I have been on a Gin and Tonic kick. I know, this is traditionally a summertime drink. But why, exactly? Ice cubes? I've been known to use them throughout the year. It's refreshing? But I need refreshment in the winter, too. 

Sometimes, I need even more refreshment in the winter. Today, for example, I needed refreshment with a capital R. Or would that be capital G&T? Like so many, I spent much of the past 24 hours handling snow. And nothing calls for more refreshment than handling snow. 

I won't bore you with an account of my 8.5 hour drive from Michigan, much of which was spent in the Circle Interchange, watching cars slide down ramps. But did you know that a spade is a useful implement in February? Yup. It readily removes chunks of ice from the alley. If you bash it hard enough. Over and over. And over again. Sing along with me: If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning . . . . 

Anyway, after raking the roof (to prevent and treat ice dams) and tunneling through ice (to create channels for the melting--and forthcoming flooding--to reach the alley drains) I am in great need of refreshment. With a capital G & T. 

Yes, I have a point here. As you know, a Gin and Tonic is made with Gin. And Tonic. And I am here to tell you today that Tonic and I are apparently at odds with one another. We are not friends. I do not know why. What have I done to you, Tonic? Why do you torture me like this? 

What, you ask, is said torture? Refer to the title of this entry: Contents under Pressure. I cannot open a bottle of tonic water with it spraying. Overflowing. Spurting. All over my kitchen. Every. Single. Time. 

Now, I have actually opened carbonated beverages before. Many times. Possible hundreds, if not thousands of times. Successfully, I might add, if one defines success by the ability to open a bottle without spraying one third of the sticky contents all over the kitchen. But I cannot open a bottle of tonic without vigorous, uncontrolled discharge. 

I have tried opening it very, very slowly. And carefully. I have tried opening it very quickly. I have opened it warm--and virtually frozen. It matters not. I turn the cap; the geyser erupts. Sometimes, I flail dramatically and try to stop it with my hands. This results in the fun thing we used to do as kids, where we would put our hands on top of the hose and cause the water to spray across the yard. 

Today, I had the brilliant impulse to point it at my chest.  That was, um, cold. And messy. I have also attempted to direct the geyser into the sink. This resulted in tonic entering all of my kitchen cupboards. 

Because I am frugal (that's my cool way of saying of the economic lower middle class) I have taken to buying tonic in increasingly larger bottles. This Does Not Help. This afternoon, I bought a two liter bottle which, upon opening, provided sufficient spray to require a complete washing of my very large kitchen floor. 

Hmm. Wonder if it cuts the dirt better than regular water? Must investigate . . . .

I have also doused other kitchens in tonic. Kitchens that weren't mine. Kitchens that I was visiting for the first time. Don't ask. I hope you don't know that it was your house. And if you do, please allow me to pretend that you never noticed because I did SUCH a good job of cleaning up. 

So, ladies and germs, I ask you: is there a method to end this madness? Please tell me how to open a bottle of tonic without achieving Lutheran baptism.