I’m cocktail slumming right now. I actually opened a beer. I don’t like beer, but when you are amidst menopause and you are not taking replacements, your gunna need Sedation via Libation and I’m waiting for my Vino to chill.
I know there are beer connoisseurs out there who have a love of Hops and Yeast, but I really can’t unravel the taste. Although, my underage- by- a- year- college daughter informed me that she loves beer. She waltzed into our home the other evening after her hard days work at the Pizzaria folding boxes and collecting change, and grabbed a beer out of the fridge and retreated to her bedroom. I Tango’d into her space with a pile of clean laundry to be put away and I noticed a half empty beer resting on her mahogany dresser sweating Malt & Barley on her July Cosmo. (I couldn’t escape the wet ring embedded in Shakiras’s Belly…. Well I can’t think of a better coaster.)
I asked my daughter if her father happened to leave a beer in her room and she snapped back;”no, it’s mine, dad said I could have it”.
My eyes went into a trance like glaze and my head spun around like Regan from Blatty’s Exorcist and I spewed; ” oh really” in pea soup.
I walked down stairs and confronted my husband with my new discovery and he admitted to the crime. Now I know kid’s in college drink and party and do much worse. And I know my daughter is responsible about this and I have warned her of the repercussions of getting behind a wheel if you have had alcohol. That being DEATH by me. I have lectured on the effects of a DUI stigma affecting the rest of her life. She is 20 and 1/2 and continually proclaims to know her life and informs me that she is responsible and not stupid. So, I quickly ran to the office and printed out a waiver for her to sign absolving me from any accidents she may incur while drinking a beer and putting away laundry.
I know my daughter is on the up-n-up with me. I know this because she is not at all like me, she is a clone of my husband. He likes beer and he is a responsible drinker. He, too, leaves his sweaty bottles lying about on tabletops without coasters.
I truly believe that whichever category of alcohol you prefer is genetically coded in your DNA. My dad liked what they called in his day, “the hard stuff”, like Scotch and Bourbon. I acquired a taste for Scotch in my twenties when a local bartender decided to teach me about the different variances and degrees of Scotch. He lined up a few shot glasses and poured from a variety of fancy labels and had me taste each and every one of them. I started with the beginner blend of Cutty Sark and ended with a Glenfiddich. (I should have started the other way around and I would have appreciated the finer first.) The rest of the evening was a blur and my friend drove me home and I spent the remainder of the night kneeling to the Porcelain God. There is no such thing as a scotch tasting….
I am not a prude when it comes to alcohol and my children ,but I am not a liberal in that arena either. I have alloted my children tiny tastes of Mommy’s aperitif now and then and when we toted our children to Italy they witnessed first hand how the European’s handle their brewed er I mean brood.. When in Rome…
I did offer a Dogfish beer to Charly-dog, but he sniffed the spout and turned his tushie to it and farted.., It appears I have a Breed of Beer snob. Maybe the same would have happened with my daughter if my husband would have offered her the local brew instead of the Import….