The big smoky scotches are pretty in-your-face. Even a bit slu tty . Maybe that’s why I love them in spite of my desire to be refined. The sweet Highland and Speyside malts get a lot of attention for their fancy gowns and up-dos. They are the belle of the ball. Lowland girls don’t get a lot of love. They aren’t very bold in general. They are a little like Cinderella. Easy to overlook, to push around, maybe they are wallflowers. But sometimes (increasingly often in my case) you get tired of the big fake boobs and the caked on makeup of the girls that so badly need attention. That’s when you realize that the unassuming charm of an Edinburgh girl is exactly what you want, and you’re kind of glad you’re not waiting in a long line for some sloppy seconds. This Glenkinchie expression is the perfect example. The nose doesn’t offer much other than a tantalizing whiff of vanilla as she walks by and gives you a shy but inviting glance. You don’t want to be creepy, so you excuse yourself and follow, but with the backup plan that if she looks alarmed, you’ll just ask her where the restroom is. No, she seems pleased to see you emerge in the hallway. The conversation is light, but she’s sweet and easy to talk to. Not saccharine sweet, no nectar or overripe fruit. Just a little heather and the vanilla that intrigued you in the first place. She cracks a salty joke then quickly looks up to see if she’s crossed a line. Your genuine laughter assures her you’re delighted, if pleasantly surprised. She takes courage and gets a little nutty, but only endearingly so. She suddenly realizes she has to go, but you can tell she regrets cutting your conversation short. And just like that she’s gone. Or is she? Your loins aren’t burning, but she stays perched on your mind the rest of the evening. You wonder if you’ll see her again and somehow the other girls, the ones you know you’ll turn to again for carnal pleasures, seem a bit garish.