Raise a glass in slow pour celebration

There's this little fantasy I entertained as a single woman. It involved a crowded bar, an expensive cocktail and a well-groomed man. With less than 90 days separating me from wedded bliss, it's becoming more and more clear that I'll never get the opportunity to live it out. I'll never get to perform what I like to call "the slow pour."

Men may recognize this term as a technique used to limit the amount of foam that accumulates in a beer glass. Wrong. The slow pour is the simple action of slowly emptying a fresh drink over a man's head. Not just any man. A man worthy of a baptism of humiliation. It takes a no-good guy to get the slow pour and a no-nonsense woman to give it.

But please don't confuse it with the quick splash. It's not the same. Similar attributes, much different origins. The quick splash happens spontaneously, the equivalent of the "how dare you" slap. It takes one swift motion and usually follows a lewd proposition or a misunderstanding. Maybe both. Beautiful young women who enjoy sitting alone at casino bars are well-practiced in the quick splash.

The slow pour, on the other hand, requires precision and planning. The players know each other intimately. The pourer more than likely has a speech prepared. (She's delivered it to her best friend, mother and hairstylist, who have all made editing suggestions.) She knows exactly where she'll execute the slow pour, who she'd like to witness it and how she'll make her exit. So much thought goes into the act that a man should almost feel honored to take a Skinnygirl margarita shower.

After orchestrating the preparation, all that remains is the opportunity. That right there is exactly what I missed out on as a single woman. It didn't matter how many times I ambitiously ordered two drinks at a time or how vigilantly I monitored the door, the opportunity never came. The deserving men did. The opportunity didn't.

That's what makes the slow pour so special. Just like Halley's Comet, it only comes around so often.

Any of my single sisters considering the ritual should take note of a few things. First, eye contact. Look him square in the eye as you pour. Nice and slow. The pacing is crucial. The slower you go, the more gratification you get. Watching his hair absorb the cocktail, especially if mint leaves or pomegranates are present, will make his misdeeds somehow seem generous. The liquor sliding down his face will look pathetic and might spur a little guilt at first. Just think back to the moment you discovered whatever heinous offense you discovered and you should get your second and third wind.

What happens next is a numbers game. Meaning, you'll either get 86'd from the bar or some party pooper will dial 911. The former is far more likely. Everyone knows the latter rarely occurs with a slow pour. (It has, however, become commonplace with the quick splash, which has made several reality TV cameos as of late.)

Plus, most people feel lucky to witness something so monumental. It's like that moment when a man tugs his pant leg to get down on bended knee or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, the moment the TV crew of "Cheaters" comes barreling through Applebees. You don't question it, you relish it.

For anyone still shaking his or her head, allow me to clarify. Women who execute the slow pour aren't the same women ordered to stay 50 feet away from their exes. They don't need a prescription. They just need to even the score. Country singer and girl next door Carrie Underwood has suggested scorned women do much worse with the help of a Louisville Slugger. And her teeth "ding" when she smiles.

Look, when it comes to single girl cliches, I missed out on several. A slap fight with a glamorous woman wearing too much eye shadow comes to mind. As does the phone number on the cocktail napkin and making up with a guy while making out with him in severe thunderstorms. But it's the slow pour that haunts me. The planning never panned out and those blueprints never paid off.

I coulda been a slow pour contender.

That's exactly why any woman blessed with the chance to empty one parts vodka, two parts cranberry juice and 10 parts poetic justice above a philanderer's head damn well better seize the moment. If not for herself, for every woman whose slow pour opportunity never came.

Contact columnist Xazmin Garza at xgarza@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0477. Follow her on Twitter at @startswithanx.