I was having one of those days. Not really a bad day, but certainly it didn't feel like a really good day, either. I was rolling into the office after an amazing extra-long weekend spent with my Sailor son in San Antonio. Work was stacked up to here on my desk and my phone wouldn't stop ringing. I plowed through the day and even planned to work late. But by 5 I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be hanging out at the Alamo, cruising around in the Texas sunshine, reveling in the wonder that comes when you see your kiddo through the grown-up lens that lets you know you didn't totally screw up as a parent.
So I posted this on Facebook at 5:15ish … “I'm finding it incredibly hard to give a shit today. But whatevs.”
And that's all it took. The hubs called and told me to meet him at the Goat for a pint. Who am I to deny myself a much needed restorative brew? My fella already had a dark one in front of him when I arrived. I tried it, but it smelled too much like Tootsie Rolls for me to take it seriously. So I tested the patience of our server by pointing at various glasses around the patio, asking things like “Ooooh, what's that pretty one?” and “Does that one taste like Sam Adams Oktoberfest because that's what it looks like …” (that comment earned me a sneer and a condescending 'No'). My guy tried to help out by offering helpful little tidbits like, “Usually she goes for IPAs …” and “Ambers are kind of her fallback.” (These comments earned him a sneer and a condescending 'Thanks, Dad' comment from me.)
Finally I threw up my hands and said, “You know what? I'm done making decisions. Surprise me.”
So I was presented with two little samplers that forced me to make a decision. The first one was some sort of amber. Tasted fine until it hit the back of my throat, at which point it took on a dishsoap sort of tinge. Then I sipped sample number two, which tasted like something that would make my life a better place to be. I pointed to the winner and our server surprised me with a delightful grin.
“Really? That's the Bitch. And she's a stout one.”
To which I replied, “Of course she is.” Bring it.
Get yourself a pint at The Flying Goat, 3318 W. NW Blvd, in the Audubon neighborhood.