Yesterday was almost the last day of school before vacation time. Almost because I still have a few reports to get done, a prom on Friday and a meeting next Monday but I am getting closer to being in my canoe on a lake somewhere up north surrounded by the tranquility of nature.

Yesterday my boss, as he does every year at this time (if I've been good), presented me with a fine bottle of scotch. This year it was a very expensive single malt from the lowlands named Auchentoshan! I include the posted description for your reference:

Description
Och'n'tosh'n. Sound this odd-looking word out (it's actually the proper pronunciation for this single malt) and you'll feel like something magical is about to happen - and you'll be right. If you prefer subtlety over intensity then this 18-year-old Auchentoshan is the answer.

As you might expect, I was full of anticipation of tasting this 18 year old beauty. The key phrase that had caught my eye was "subtlety over intensity". At my age, and with the onset of a summer vacation filled with tranquility, nature, canoeing, etc., I was looking forward to an evening of subtlety with a very mature 18 year old.

So late last night (after allowing my expectations to reach their maximum), I dared to open this beauty and poured a wee dram of the golden liquor into a small glass. I teased myself for a full minute by simply breathing in the wonderful aroma. I marvelled at the clear amber colour of her. I gently swirled the liquid around in the glass and admired her long legs (it's a scotch drinkers term) as she undulated down the sides of the vessel. I was ready!

At first sip though I realized that I was not dealing with a submissive golden haired Scottish beauty from the highlands but rather with a fiery red head from the lowlands. She entered my senses not with subtlety but with the cruelty of an explosive charge which carried down from my nose to the bottom of my stomach. Additionally, to my utter amazement, as I pulled the glass away I noticed that the once clear amber coloured 18 year old had disappeared to be replaced with an angry looking oily, milky mixture such as you might find in the ditches of Calcutta on a hot July day after the monsoons have passed. I felt betrayed - as one might after falling in love with a beautiful girl only to have her turn into an angry, bitter harpy once the marriage vows have been consummated.

But I was arrogant my friends. Did I turn away from this vixen who had harmed my very soul? No! I thought that given my many years of experience I could tame this wench who had turned into a bitch before my very eyes. After all, had I not gone through a divorce and lived to tell of it! Could this be any worse? With the boldness of a fool I turned once more to this fiery, angry beast and continued to consume her.

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As I write this, some 2 hours after awakening upon the floor of my apartment in a pool of my own drool, I still feel as if I had gone a full twelve rounds with a 6 foot Amazonian Scottish whore who clawed, bit, chewed, and punched her way to victory over my tired old body. I'll give her that - she is a fighter! But as I said before - I am arrogant and last night notwithstanding, I look forward with eager anticipation to once again tackling the Scottish whore tonight. Tonight I will be prepared! Tonight I shall be victorious!