One man’s flavor magic is another’s flavor tragic. …

“So this woman from Kent was — well, inexperienced about drinking,” the Italian representative of the League of Liberal Libations began in a voice musical with mirth. “And here we are in this incredible restaurant with the finest selection of Scotch in town, and for the first round she orders ...” he paused for effect, “a Sex on the Beach!”

As if on cue, eight League members surrounding me at dinner last Friday opened into peals and hoots of laughter. The storyteller mopped tears of merriment from his eyes. “I mean, how long has it been since you had one of those? ’87? ’88?”

As the others snickered appreciatively, an icy chill crept up my spine. My last Sex on the Beach was younger than cheap red wine — two days ago at Chopstix’s happy hour. I began to perspire.

The dueling piano bar on Tacoma’s Sixth Avenue offers $4 nachos, wings, cheesy fries, coconut shrimp and six other items Tuesday-Friday, 5-7 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. to 1 a.m.  I like to buzz in early before the 8 p.m. show, fill my gut and pop a few drinks before the pianists force me to sing “She’s Gone” by Hall and Oats, which would be appropriate since my girlfriend moved out, and there I was drinking vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry and grapefruit juice in a highball glass.  It wasn’t even Thursday Ladies Night.

Weak.

[Chopstix, Tuesday-Saturday, $7 cover Friday and Saturday, 2702 Sixth Ave., Tacoma, 253.627.7555]