the Bitch in the house

My husband and I are not hefty drinkers.  More like your dinner cocktail and a beer or glass of wine at the most.  Yet we are particular drinkers.  My husband is much more tolerant than I because he truly believes that a freebeer is a good beer.  I, on the other hand, just skip the alcohol altogether if it is not to my liking.  And as with most things, my taste run toward the prada end of consumption – my daddy always said that I have champagne taste on a diet coke budget.  When we head out to suburbia we often pop into a particular beverage locale that my twinergy scouted for us.  It runs the gamut of eclectic to sophisticated to bawdy to cheap.  And it is near a major state university.  Since it is back to school week for the biggestkiddles, the place was packed with keggers and beer runs and wasted youngin’s lookin for someone to buy.   And we came in.

My husband was after a raki (not arak) distilled concoction and I am out of my favorite: Voyant.  The guys behind the counter are always the real connoisseurs and did a little jig to our fabulous purchases remarking on the cool kids in the store.  There we are, a good 10-15 years on most of the shoppers with 12packs and colorlessdrunkinabottles, clearly thinking we were oldies with a penchant for the coolkid sites when, in fact, we WERE the cool kids tonite!  Ain’t that a hoot?