The Kind of Day

Today was totally the drink-a-beer-in-the-after-work-shower kind of day. After talking off my mud stained clothes and boots, I went to the fridge and withdrew the beer that I had been envisioning since about 11:30 this morning. It looked like this:

I twisted the cap off and flicked it into the recycle bin, and then turned and walked into the bathroom to turn on the water and draw the shower curtain. Then I took my first sip; it was a long draw, draining the neck of the bottle, and I felt my muscles begin to relax.

A lot of people place a lot of importance upon beer quality. I've tried a lot of these so-called quality beers, and they are good. But I really like the taste of certain, more economical brews. Miller High Life is one of them. Union made, and economically priced--served cold, it is a beverage a hard worker can feel good about imbibing.

This first-sip-description may sound like it came from a beer commercial, but frankly, it was that good. Idealized good. If the folks at Miller had approached me at that moment, standing naked in front of my warming shower, and asked me to write and star in a commercial for them, I would have done it. I would have done it because people deserve to know how much I was enjoying this beer at this time.

I got in the shower, and let the water run over me, through my hair, and down my back, washing off the dirt from the trench I dug today. I picked up the beer, which I had set on the small table next to the tub, and took another swing, enjoying the cold malty flavor as it washed into my stomach.

This sip was even more idyllic. The humidity from the shower caused cold lines of condensation to fog off the bottom of the bottle, wafting down through the steams of water. The foam bounced up the bottle as I tilted it back upright and away from my lips, and I could just hear the faint fizz of carbonation above the sound of the shower nozzle.

As I renewed my body through the miracle of indoor plumbing, I finished the entire beer. I'm not sure if I let the shower last as long as the beer, or whether I savored the beer until the shower was complete. After the last dregs had dripped into me, I let the water from the shower rinse the bottle so that it could be eventually recycled. I would have left the empty bottle on the table next to the tub as a milestone or shrine of my experience, but I knew my lover and housemate would not have appreciated that, so I took it back to the kitchen where it belonged.

I was relaxed, and ready for an evening.