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"A Man's Drink"

"A Man's Drink"

I've joked about leaving the house twice a week. Once for church, once for beer. 

(Don't worry, I work too, and periodically we DO need groceries...)

"My" bar is three towns over, a half-hour drive, in a town I'm not overly fond of, but it's a classy place, not like the other divey joints. 

They’ve got 40 taps, which are rotated weekly. The bartenders are kindly, the prices are good considering what you’re being served (some great brews I’d have trouble finding on tap anywhere else), and they’re good about appropriate glassware. 

I'm not a snob about glassware, but it does make a difference with better beers.

A primary reason I go there, though, is that it feels safe. Generally I’ve got friends hanging out on the same night (we’re there for a community open-mic), but if not, I don’t mind sitting there by myself. 

One night last year, going on the third hour of sitting there, a couple beers in, I decided life and its associated trials merited scotch. 

So I ordered Lagavulin, neat, because that’d long been on my list to try. For the record, I do prefer Laphroaig, but ANYWAY...

A few barstools over, a guy presumably my age was talking loudly, inescapably, of which cost more to maintain, a girlfriend or a whore. 

He then proceeded to say, you know, if you actually GET MARRIED, then you have to factor in the cost of divorce. His friend (or brother, maybe) sat there smirking, silently, looking down at the bar. 

Awkward. I mean, someone just said whore quite loudly. 

I sat there staring into my scotch. 

Sniff, swirl, taste. 

Drop of water, taste, taste, couple drops of water, taste. 

Little piece of ice, taste, taste, sniff, thinking. 

Thinking of how much I’d like to say on this topic. Decided it'd be better to keep my mouth shut, except to take in scotch.

The one with the loud mouth now spots me sitting at the bar (and let's be honest, I was probably scowling) and proceeds to tell me how much he approved of my drink, saying “now that’s a MAN'S drink.” This is coming from a fella who’d put away four or five Bud Lights, which, if we’re going to be rampantly sexist here, I consider a “woman’s drink.”

And that’s all. I didn’t punch him, I didn’t denigrate his beverage of choice, I made a general "grmph" noise/face in his direction, and then carried on ignoring him. 

You can't argue with people like this. He left eventually. 

Once the initial rage faded, I felt sad about the whole thing. I’m sad on his behalf, and sad for whomever he tries to date.

I feel sorry for the woman he will eventually no doubt marry. 

You go into any venture with that kind of attitude, and it’s not going to pan out. 

Self-fulfilling prophecies, and all that.

PS, if you think whiskey is a man’s drink, you’re probably hanging out with the wrong kind of women.

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