A young newbie to our group, who has already achieved Beer Excellence – earning the coveted Pub jacket – was across the table from Pickles* and me. We were learning from the adventures of the newbie, and strategizing our necessary beer-fest road trip – which we must complete to achieve Beer Excellence, and score those fucking elusive jackets!
Sorting through our calendars, we settled on a Sunday in May as the day to make the daylong beer run. This requires strategies for a full day out of town, determining designated drivers and making sure those with small children can secure the necessary kitchen pass.
i asked Pickles if that Sunday would work with her schedule. “But that’s The Lord’s Day!” she exclaimed.
The table silenced. All eyes turned toward Pickles. You see, we are not known for our devotion to church-going… or the religious arts… In fact, we are skilled practitioners of the art of recreational blasphemy**.
After an elephantically pregnant pause, she and i burst out with insane belly laughs! High fives were exchanged, the rest of the table relaxed, and went back to discussions of community theater hook-ups, walking through “hobo rape territory” and adventures with human excrement.
But the look on the face of the young newbie? Worth a thousand pints…
* No. Not even i am strange enough to bring my dog drinking. This is one of the original four, so nicknamed because of her unfortunate run-in with a stomache virus after consuming a plate of deep fried pickles. She has stated that of all the things to you should not hoark up when in the midst of illness, deep fried pickles is at the top of the list. Right above “your own intestines”.
** By the way… if you Google “recreational blasphemy”, guess who pops up as the first entry?