I was ready to have some fun. The bar we were at was crowded with people who were talking and laughing loudly. We snagged a table and sat down to observe the scene. The place was dimly lit and the air was hazy with smoke. A live band playing in the corner of the room was mangling what I thought was Meatloaf’s “I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)”. We had to yell in order to hear each other.

“This place is a dive!” Des declared loudly.

“Yeah, a dive that serves sweet beer! I must try one!” I insisted. I was on a mission.

Des rolled her eyes but I ignored her. I was about to discover the tasty goodness that was sweet beer. If it was to be experienced in a dive, then so be it. I grabbed the menu. As I skimmed it, disappointment seeped in. Sweet Beer, as I discovered, was actually secret code for, “Hah hah, you suck because you bought into the sweet beer myth, sweet beer actually means micro-brews!”

“F**king beer,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” Des yelled over the din.

“I said I’m happy to be here!” I yelled back.

Micro-brew selections included offerings such as chocolate-chip beer, oatmeal beer and pumpkin beer. I decided to order a sampler, which consisted of eight different shots of beer. Des ordered a merlot. When the harried waitress brought us our order, I studied each one carefully. I pointed one out to Des. “That one has rabbit shit in it!” I told her.

“No, those are chocolate chips,” Des explained.

The sweet beer fiasco only fueled my determination to finish all the shots, which I did in record time. Des merely sipped her drink. Things started to get a little fuzzy after that. All I knew was that the beer, aside from the rabbit pellets, did not in fact taste like chocolate chip, oatmeal or pumpkin. I was so disappointed. And drunk. I laid my head down on the table. Now the band was playing a horrible rendition of “Two Princes.” Des sighed and decided we should go home, because I was in no condition to do anything else. We paid our tab and left, Des practically lugging me every step of the way.

“God you are such a cheap date,” she snorted.

“I know and if you were a guy you could totally have your way with me now!” I crowed, laughing drunkenly.

“Yeah, my loss,” she said sarcastically.

According to Des, we did get home safely, but I spent a good part of the night worshipping at the porcelain throne.

Note to Self: Don’t get drunk again on an empty stomach.