Tonight, I participated in another beer-tasting sponsored by Tria Cafe. This one, my third, featured lagers—seven of them. I thought several of the beers were too subtle (i.e., way too flavorless), but I particularly liked the smoky Schlenkerla Helles; the pleasant Czechvar, which I could drink one right after the other (at least for awhile); a deliciously malty Augustiner Maximator; and a strong, strong Zywiec Porter, which tasted a lot (perhaps too much) like strong coffee.
Given my recent history, you’ll be surprised to learn that I didn’t fall asleep tonight on the train ride home. Woo hoo! Adulthood can’t be far away, huh? Soon I’ll be able to stay up past 9 p.m. and have dinner at the grown-up table….
As a matter of fact, with more than a little of seven beers in my system, I was feeling pretty darn adult—about as adult as I ever get. A handsome man a few seats away from me kept glancing over at me, and I gave him the best interested look I could manage (on seven beers, anyway). After the tasting, I purposely walked by him, and he said I looked familiar. (Was that a line?) Because I was apparently possessed by demon spirits (i.e., delicious hops), I responded by (i) gently putting my hand right on his stomach(!!!) and (ii) saying that I was just taken with “how adorable” he was. He laughed, and didn’t punch me, so maybe he was interested. Unfortunately, I quickly returned to my senses and—when he didn’t immediately slip me his phone number—I got the hell out of there.
I’m proud of myself for being so aggressive. I should do that more often. I wonder if I really need a couple of beers in me for that to happen….
I’m also annoyed with myself for not sticking around for a little bit longer. I’m just so damn shy, and my natural impulse is always to make haste. In my defense, it seemed at the time that the next step, if any, was his. But did I give him enough time to do anything? Probably not. How many beers would it have taken for me to stick around and just keep talking for awhile? Is it any wonder I’m still single?
P.S. I still can’t believe I was drunk enough to put my hand on a stranger’s stomach. What’s next, Jay? Will you be swatting men’s behinds in the supermarket?