Your Beer Goggles Are Broken

It isn't often that I consume alcoholic beverages, but on occasion, I partake of a certain refreshment that shall remain nameless but who's initials are ...
















Tom prefers a tribute to Jimmy Buffett, and I will acquiesce if there isn't any Corona available.

















We make NO apologies - we DO fruit the beer!











We live just 6 or 7 miles from a winery, but we don't think we're snooty enough to visit. We are, however, considering a recipe of our own, and if the smells wafting from our backyard are any indication, pear wine might not be a bad idea.








But no matter how you slice it, this is one beer you won't find either one of us slurping down on a hot summer day. This is simply a remnant - evidence, if you will - that we can indeed co-exist on this planet with our neighbor. We have a long and sullied history with the guy. He took a disliking to us upon realizing that we had no intentions of spending countless hours grooming our lawn to his specifications. We're hopeful that his offer to purchase a broken down riding lawn mower is a gesture toward an eventual peace treaty. He must not have had a pipe, but he did leave this can behind when he finished making repairs to the confounded contraption.


I say all this as a segue to a comical, and mostly one-sided, conversation that took place between me and a different neighbor one day last week. This little smidgen of a man is apparently a confirmed alcoholic. He's probably mid-40's, 150 pounds or less, and just slightly resembles a bird wearing thick spectacles. Clearly, he's as familiar with his way down the liquor aisle as he is unfamiliar with good pickup lines and/or compliments.

I was holding baby T. in my arms, strolling down the sidewalk for a short break from the house, attempting to calm her down. (She's a bit colic-y in the evenings, and while I might be able to wind down with a bit of imbibing, that's generally frowned upon in these parts for 5 week old babies.)

I didn't even see this gentleman sitting on his front steps until I heard him say "How old is the baby?". I told him she's a month old.

"Well, I hope it's a grandchild, 'cause you don't look old enough to have kids of your own."