Beer (A Love Story)

My husband likes to perform trickery on me, he will hand me an IPA and lie, lie, lie, lie just to see my face get that offended look, like my butthole just puckered at the sheer glllaaauuuhhhhgghhh of that atrocious taste. It is a rude, mean joke and I would expect nothing less of him.

I asked him one day what it was that he loved about an IPA, to which he replied ” I like the way it tastes”, a typical man talking to a woman. We want feelings and details and they get all simple and straightforward on us. So I have him a different kind of look that is silent marriage talk for “quit being and obtuse asshole”.

His face changed then and he took a deep breath, I do believe his expression got all soft and dreamy. Then he went and got all eloquent and waxed poetic about his love for this beer. It was almost romantic. Words like distinct taste, variations of flavors, honesty, pureness flew from his lips. Craft beers being second class to an IPA, always knowing what you are drinking at first sip due to the sincerity of the flavor. He went on to get all passionate about how with the popularity of IPA’s some were trying to sully it by competing for whose is the most “hoppy” (no I did not make a bunny joke during his emblazoned speech, but I wanted to)and ruining the dynamic of the beer, the frankness and candor. A true IPA is supposed to be bitter, but a balance needs to be found between that bitterness, flavor, and alcohol, that is the real marvel of a good IPA.

And after his impassioned dialogue on IPA, as if to prove his point and give worth to his adoration, vulnerable, he rose and walked to the refrigerator. After opening the door and taking the cap off, the bottle hovering right next to his mouth, he closes his eyes and takes his first sip. It was as if I was not there, just a man and his beer.

 

(and by just witnessing this romance churning in the air, all I could still think was FOULNESS)