Crying Over Spilled Beer

I knew deployment would be tough. But no one told me I'd find myself in my living room crying over a 30-second Sam Adams commercial. That's just ridiculous, even by my standards. I get why-- John's a beer enthusiast, and he really loves Sam Adams.

On one of our first dates, we were hanging out with a bunch of friends at a Blue Band reunion. He had to step outside and asked me to grab him a beer if there was a lull at the bar. "No problem," I said as coolly and smoothly as I could, not having a clue what kind of beer he'd want to drink. I hate beer. I avoid drinking it at all costs. In fact, in my whole life, I've only been able to down one very small glass of green beer. I have regretted it for the last 5 years.

I stood at the bar, awkwardly, waiting for a bartender. You can probably guess that I'm not the pushy, showy type, so bartenders rarely notice me. That's usually because I look like a soda drinker... which, coincidentally, is mostly what I drink at bars anyway.

So there I am, standing, trying to get the bartender's attention and simultaneously cursing the free enterprise system, hating the entire beer industry, and wishing I were in Communist Russia. Why so many kinds of beers? Why not just one kind of beer? And one of our mutual friends and soon-to-be beer savior, Mark, walked up and before he could say anything, I pounced.

"I have no idea what to order John!"

"What was he drinking?" Mark said. I am not a careful observer of things like that. I knew he had a glass of beer. After seeing the vacant, clueless expression glass over my face, Mark came to the rescue. "Okay, get him a Sam Adams. He likes those."

So simple.

And I did. Once a random girl called a bartender over because she felt bad for my ineptitude. Seriously, I'm a pretty ignorable, forgettable person, especially in a dark bar. You'd think it'd be the opposite, since I virtually glow in the dark, my skin is so pale.

Probably about an hour or so later, John and I decided that we were way too awesome together to be single anymore. I'm not going to credit the Sam Adams entirely, but it couldn't have hurt. (Mark--thanks, buddy!)

Back to the commercial: there's no reason why a Sam Adams spot should make me tear up like I'm watching the Lifetime Network. And yet, I could feel tears burning the corners of my eyes as some guy-- I'm assuming Mr. Adams?-- plunged into and then exploded from a dunk tank full of beer.

John has got to start liking craft beers with no budgets for media campaigns.