Chris is a lush, and that is why I love him. He’s a beaming, enabling drunk, and is prone to feelings – I like that in a man. Besides the obvious perks of free beer (minus the cost of fridge space and clean-up) on tap, there is a swanky fucking keezer (keg-freezer/kegerator) and the throbbing manliness of the enterprise to bask flushed and glowingly in, a proud wife and participant in economical debauchery, alcoholic alchemy, the organic chemistry of creation. The downside is the follow-through – cooking easy drunk meals as husband-man lies passed out on the couch, hydrating and feeding him is just one of my marital obligations; others include staying up to finish that damn pint he poured for himself. Apparently “watered down lager” (as dubbed by the unconscious brewmaster) isn’t quite watered down enough.
I’ll drink to you, love of my life, father of my child, may we drink ourselves happily and enthusiastically under the table, time after time. And may one of us always be sober enough to scrape the other off the floor and finish their beer, because marriage is commitment.