Strawberry Daiquiri Quotes

The police are asking through the bedroom door, why did I make a batch of strawberry daiquiris before I called them? Because we were out of raspberries. Because, can't they see, it just does not matter. Time was not of the essence.

He had kissed her good night that night, and she had tasted like strawberry daiquiris, and he had never wanted to kiss anyone else again.

To me, Chicago was the bar in the twelfth-floor lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, where I drank strawberry daiquiris—sophisticated!—with my visiting parents and with girls I was trying to impress. It was the elegant shops at the new, fancy Water Tower Place. My favorite Chicago spots were primarily restaurants. Dianna’s Opaa, in Greektown on South Halsted Street, with its lanky, serpent-like owner, Petros Kogiones, performing his host duties that were as important as the food—on the nights he wasn’t there, you felt cheated—sliding back his sheet of long black hair to greet his female customers with an overly familiar kiss and their dates with a disarming, arms-flung-wide cry of “cousin!” then conducting his odd 9 p.m. ceremonies, calling up all the engaged couples to be officially blessed by Famous Petros in the name of God, the Greek Orthodox Church, and Dianna’s Opaa! We’d all cheer and raise our juice glasses of Roditis high. Or

Tentacles Love is my tentacles: the pleasure in my stomach when she sips a strawberry daiquiri; the satisfaction filling my face when she smiles; the music to my ears when she laughs; the spring in my heels when she waves to me; the tingle in my body when she touches me; and the ache in my heart when she leaves me.

And wasn't that a whiskey sour of an emotional cocktail? Being smug and hopeful and bitter and sad all at the same time. Which so wasn't me. I was a strawberry daiquiri boy, through and through.

It’d be nice to hang out with a group of girls.” “Should I feel insulted?” Her gaze dropped to his watered-down strawberry daiquiri. “I’d say you’re filling in quite nicely for the time being.” Touché. “I thought we agreed that my daiquiri doesn’t make me any less manly.” “I think you agreed to that,