A whiskey woman is not like those that drink sweet tea, or that sip white wine on the veranda in the summer months—with an ice cube floating around while she taps her manicured pink nails against her glass.
No, a whiskey woman is a breed all her own. She will overpower your senses with the smell of maple syrup and a distinctive sweetness that always leaves you wanting more. She will burn in the beginning only to give way to a full bodied smoothness that continually will leave you breathless for more.
“Whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation. You gaze first, then it’s time to drink.” ~ Haruki Murakami
To love a whiskey woman is to give yourself over to her, and delight in the intoxication of her very essence.
A whiskey woman will never be the one who is smiling politely, in the corner, making small talk.
Instead you can usually find her in the middle of the crowd dancing until she is breathless, or you may have to search her out because she’s snuck out back for a smoke, or just to feel the way the wind dances along her bare shoulders under the stars.
To love a whiskey woman is to rebel against the norm, for she will turn your world upside down if you let her.
She has no use for anything but the truth and she demands the same authenticity from a man that she demands from her whiskey. No—Jim Beam or Jack Daniels just won’t do for her. She can taste class, and can tell the difference from those that are like all the rest.
To love a whiskey woman is to be willing to be raw and untamed; it’s putting yourself out there every single day and knowing that she will always match your honesty and realism. She will expect nothing less.
A whiskey woman won’t ever make sense, and what she likes today, may bore her tomorrow.
She changes with the seasons, and loves the natural ebb and flow that they bring to her life. She may be the life of the crowd at times, but at others her silence can envelope those around her like a fierce Nor’easter. She can get lost staring at the way her single batch bourbon creates caramel swirls against the melting ice in her glass. Even when she gets lost—know if you give her reason to—she will always find her way back to you.
To love a whiskey woman is to give her freedom even when it breaks your heart to do it. It’s letting her come and go as she pleases, knowing the less you try to hold onto to her the more likely it is you will never lose her.
Although a whiskey woman can doll herself up with the best of ‘em, she is at home in the moonlight, scantily dressed drinking too many whiskey blends and ginger brews. Her eyes carry the dreams of your boyhood, and her lips are the sonnets breathing poetry into your life. Her smile is as elusive as the Mona Lisa, and she will cast her eyes down, not because she is shy, but because she fears you can read her thoughts.
To love a whiskey woman is to hold her hand though the rain and sun. It’s opening your heart like you never have before and letting her not just plant a garden there, but letting it bloom as well.
A whiskey woman will make your blood rush and face flush like the taste of a Highland Scotch. She will make you shake with anticipation at the first taste and she will pour herself over you until you wonder how you ever did without her. She is as ageless as the finest bourbon and as rare as the single malt; her skin as smooth as Jameson on ice.
To love a whiskey woman is to let yourself be burned up in her love—it’s fearless, and brave. It’s knowing that you will never escape the magnificent storm that she is, and instead decide to ride it out, waves and all.
A whiskey woman is as complex as the aging process, but as simplistic as the ingredients.
She is a 1001 reasons why not, but not a single reason why. She is the 2:00a.m. dreams and the feel of a warm Summer rain on your skin. She is the tear sliding down your cheek when you realize she is your everything, and she is the words you can never find.
A whiskey woman is your heart. She is your soul, because she knows better than anyone that anything worth having has to be aged first, and there is no rush in perfection.
To love a whiskey woman is to realize the greatest joy comes from the taste—the experience of the wonderful. And though she can’t be tamed, or rationalized, or even made sense of, you wouldn’t want it any other way.
To love a whiskey woman is to fall into a love that there is no recovery from.
Author: Kate Rose
Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock