Some kids grow up against certain…expectations. A lady should always know X. A gentleman should be able to do Y.

I don’t recall any of these applying to me when I was learning how to be me. I think my brother may have some preconceived notions about what capital-M Men do, but I don’t remember any gender-specific ones for me.

I do remember that we were both expected to learn to drive stick shift, but the reason was practical — learn on a stick and you can drive pretty much any car you need to drive. And most tractors.

But one thing I think I would like to master is the perfect martini. The reason is neither practical nor defined — I would just like to have that skill. It’s somewhat irrational, too, as I’m not a huge drinker of martinis. But I’m viewing it as a matter of honor. Not that every namby-pamby pseudointellectual must know how to do so…just this one.

And I’m not talking about appletinis and the pomegranate martinis from the World Market mixer. I’m talking about the James Bond type….but stirred rather than shaken, because why water it down with ice chips? Bond was a candyass.

I have a friend who used to tend bar, so I shall rely on his expertise where my Seagram’s cocktail bible falls short. I will need volunteers to help me in this endeavor, volunteers who don’t mind tossing back a few martinis, of an evening (here’s lookin’ at you, Shotgun). And if my volunteers opt to dress like Hepburn or Humphrey Bogart, so much the better.

Related: After a brief hiatus, I have decided to renew my reelection campaign for president of the Epicurean Society. In the words of our forefathers, vote early and often!