Beer Goggles
This weekend was the Oregon Brewers Festival. And as per usual, I was there drinking beer. I did not overindulge, although other people did. In case you doubt this, here's some evidence.
B and I occasionally had to go our separate ways, and stand in separate far-flung lines, when, say he wanted to sample a cream ale and I wanted to sample a double IPA. We agreed that we'd meet back at the centrally located and sparsely patronized root beer tent. Evidently, the IPA line was shorter than the cream ale line, because when I got back to the root beer tent, B was nowhere to be seen. As I was slowly revolving 360 degrees to see if I'd perhaps missed B, a young man (age 22 tops) materialized in front of me and asked me if I was looking for someone.
Me: Yes, my husband.*
Young Man: Well, you looked like you were looking for someone. I could tell. I was waiting for someone, too. A Playboy model, but she didn't show up.
Me: Uhhhh???!!!! Bummer.
Young Man (eagerly): Let me help you look!!!! You look unhappy!!!! I can help you look!!!!! I'm taller than you. I can see above all these heads. I can help you!!!!! What does he look like? Is he tall, short, fat, skinny? Is he wearing a hat?
Me (long, thoughtful pause**): He's wearing a hat. A baseball hat. Oh, there he is (B walks up [thank god]).
Young Man (to B): She was looking for you!!!!! She looked unhappy!!! I was helping her look!!!!!!!
B: Ha, ha, ha! I know that look!
Me: How many of those (pointing to young man's beer mug) have you had?
Young Man (enthusiastically and boastfully): I had a bottle of champagne before this! (wanders off toward the Horn of Africa).
******
Jeez. Let's hope he took the MAX home.
Here's the weird thing. Almost the exact same thing happened to me at the beer festival last year, i.e., a man young enough to be my son accosted me and engaged me in an extended and drunken conversation when I happened to find myself alone for a few minutes. Lesson: Never underestimate the power of beer goggles.
*Astute readers will recall that B and I aren't actually (in the legal sense) married. But at this stage in my life it seems preposterous to refer to B as my "boyfriend"; "partner" (ick) doesn't do it for me either. Plus, when you're dealing with a drunk guy, it just doesn't make any sense to split hairs.
** I admit to being somewhat at a loss when put on the spot to describe B. He is neither tall nor short; fat nor skinny. His own personal description of himself is "nondescript." When my brother first met him, he referred to him for quite some time as "the white man." All of which is to say that B tends to blend in in a beer festival crowd. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
B and I occasionally had to go our separate ways, and stand in separate far-flung lines, when, say he wanted to sample a cream ale and I wanted to sample a double IPA. We agreed that we'd meet back at the centrally located and sparsely patronized root beer tent. Evidently, the IPA line was shorter than the cream ale line, because when I got back to the root beer tent, B was nowhere to be seen. As I was slowly revolving 360 degrees to see if I'd perhaps missed B, a young man (age 22 tops) materialized in front of me and asked me if I was looking for someone.
Me: Yes, my husband.*
Young Man: Well, you looked like you were looking for someone. I could tell. I was waiting for someone, too. A Playboy model, but she didn't show up.
Me: Uhhhh???!!!! Bummer.
Young Man (eagerly): Let me help you look!!!! You look unhappy!!!! I can help you look!!!!! I'm taller than you. I can see above all these heads. I can help you!!!!! What does he look like? Is he tall, short, fat, skinny? Is he wearing a hat?
Me (long, thoughtful pause**): He's wearing a hat. A baseball hat. Oh, there he is (B walks up [thank god]).
Young Man (to B): She was looking for you!!!!! She looked unhappy!!! I was helping her look!!!!!!!
B: Ha, ha, ha! I know that look!
Me: How many of those (pointing to young man's beer mug) have you had?
Young Man (enthusiastically and boastfully): I had a bottle of champagne before this! (wanders off toward the Horn of Africa).
******
Jeez. Let's hope he took the MAX home.
Here's the weird thing. Almost the exact same thing happened to me at the beer festival last year, i.e., a man young enough to be my son accosted me and engaged me in an extended and drunken conversation when I happened to find myself alone for a few minutes. Lesson: Never underestimate the power of beer goggles.
*Astute readers will recall that B and I aren't actually (in the legal sense) married. But at this stage in my life it seems preposterous to refer to B as my "boyfriend"; "partner" (ick) doesn't do it for me either. Plus, when you're dealing with a drunk guy, it just doesn't make any sense to split hairs.
** I admit to being somewhat at a loss when put on the spot to describe B. He is neither tall nor short; fat nor skinny. His own personal description of himself is "nondescript." When my brother first met him, he referred to him for quite some time as "the white man." All of which is to say that B tends to blend in in a beer festival crowd. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
posted by Rozanne at 10:54 PM
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