I’d like to be a beer-drinking girl. Not the loud, foul-mouthed, red Solo cup kind, but the cool, quiet kind who takes a carefree swig out of a solid, sturdy bottle then defeats a cocky guy in a round of darts. Sign me up!
At least once every summer when the temps hit 100, I try it. I think, “Maybe this will be the year I like beer.” So I buy a six-pack, bring it home, pop it in the fridge, then pull out a cold one all calm and casual like I do it every day. I pop the top and a puff of chilly fog wafts out as I grab the bottle. There’s something about the bottle that reels me in and makes me want to try a little harder. I wrap my hand around the cold, dark brown glass with confidence, because I’m certain that’s how beer-drinking girls would do it: strong, independent, calling the shots. And I have to admit, it feels good. It feels cool and refreshing but it also feels powerful and a teensy bit rebellious…and I like it.
But, sadly, I don’t like beer. The first taste is always okay because almost anything cold tastes good on a hot day; but by the third or fourth sip, I’m over it. I can’t get past the bitterness—or whatever it is—and I start searching for snacks to help kill the aftertaste. I look disappointedly at my 2/3-full bottle and think about his five 12-ounce brothers waiting in the fridge.
And I know.
This won’t be the year after all.
.
* BigPolly * 