The hubs and I had a rare opportunity a few weeks ago -- we got to go out… to an adults-only party… in the middle of the week.

I know! Like we were still vibrant, interesting and fun! So, clearly the people who invited us to the event don’t know us all that well.

I had to spend days convincing the hubs this was something we both wanted to do and needed to do. However, it was for a friend’s production company in support of their new independent film, and we were GOING, dammit.

The chicklet, in a rare display of cluelessness, indicated that she felt my wearing a dress would be inappropriate. I guess she felt that being far under the ‘over 21’ limit somehow gave her insights into how adults dress for a premiere and cocktail party. Happily, I discarded her suggestions and went in a dress. (For those keeping score at home, I looked perfectly appropriate and even got a compliment for my ensemble.)

Correct spiking.

We’d arrived early, so we were able to get seats at the bar. Normally this would mean I’d lord it over everyone and really feel like we’d scored. And I did…for about ten minutes.

Then, the first reality of this evening set in. The bartenders weren’t all that…good. The drinks were okay, but nothing great. And the bartenders were sloppy. As in, within an hour, the hubs looked and smelled like he’d been swimming in a vat of Long Island Iced Tea, because he’d been splattered with so much stray drink.

In addition to their lack of cool bartending skills -- believe me, the set of “Cocktail” this wasn’t -- I noted something else about the bartenders. All the bartenders. To a man, they had their hair ‘spiked’ up, in that pseudo, just-rolled-out-of-bed style that only a limited number of guys can pull off.

For the record, of the seven bartenders, only ONE could pull this look off. On HIM it looked great, sexy, appealing -- almost like he wasn’t using hair care products. The look flattered him.

On the others? Uhhh…not so much. The looks varied between ‘REALLY just got out of bed’ to ‘I spend all my salary on gel and hairspray’. But none of them looked GOOD. Most of them looked cruddy to ugly, with one guy who’d tried for the spiked faux-hawk from front to back. He looked like he’d lost a bet and had to wear an angry badger on his head.

The coup de grace was the bartender who had tight, thick, curly hair. The kind that you either let go ‘fro or you keep neatly trimmed because there is NOTHING you can do with hair like this other than let it curl or keep it short. But he was trying. Very, very hard. To spike this kind of hair.

It looked like he was in desperate need of that finishing once-over from the salon or barber, just to catch those stray hairs. But he’d clearly spent time attempting ‘the look’. And it dawned on me -- this hair look was a requirement of employment at this place.

As opposed to requiring their bartenders to be able to mix good drinks, or be able to mix any kind of drink without splattering all the patrons sitting at the bar, this place requires them to spike their hair, regardless of how it actually looks.

I dunno. If it were ME, I’d pay more attention to what makes a bar good -- like the drinks and the atmosphere -- and less on showing off that your guys all know from mousse and weaves.

Then again, the place WAS called “Sheer”. Maybe they can’t spell any more than they can mix drinks.