My dear wife must have had a bad day. I came home to the sounds of her on the phone with our daughter, grumbling about a number of things. I didn't catch all of it, but one thing I heard went something like this: ". . . and if Dad wants supper tonight he can cook it himself because I can't get the microwave to work." I know what this means. I'm going to have to try to be less annoying than usual this evening.
Now that it's time for my daily beer, I've been sitting here for several minutes now, debating within myself. I'm trying to find the best words to use, the smoothest turn of phrase, to give her just a little reminder, in the politest way possible, to get me a cold one. I've considered a number of expressions, but nothing sounds quite right. So, giving up, I've had to get off the couch, go out to the garage to get and pour one myself.
This cream ale from South Carolina is delicious. The vanilla additive seems to bring out the grain flavors of the malt. It actually tastes as good as if it were served to me.