My grandma used to say about her boyfriends or husband that she preferred a guy that her girlfriends balked at. That made her happy. Reason? Because in her eyes all men are snakes. And the best way to keep one, is to get one no one else wants. He’s MY snake she would say, you can be sure of that. I guess I have never had that kind of relationship with a man, where I specifically wanted him because no one else did. But I guess love for some is different for others. I do understand though. No seriously. Because this is how I feel about beer. My girlfriends, co- workers, family members, the female ones, balk at beer. They don’t drink it, it’s not fancy, it’s not ladylike, it’s not dainty, it makes you bloated, it’s so “Frat boy.” I guess. In a way this kind of makes me happy. Because I can buy myself a 24 pack of Corona Light and not having to worry about sharing is money. I can have an affair with Stella on tap at Roadrunner Lounge and then go home, smiling and ready to be faithful to my six pack of New Castle Limited Edition Founder’s Pale Ale in the fridge. Because to most girls, beers are snakes. It is certainly not a body conscious drink. I figure if all you got going for you is your body, then you better keep it in shape. Leave the beer to me, dumbasses. Leave the beer to me and all the boys who come with beer. Beer is my equivalent of knowing about cars. Beer is my equivalent of liking video games or wrestling or golf. You keep drinking your fruity little wine coolers and I’ll keep getting all the snakes. It’s Ale or Lager. I know. Its Pilsner, Its India ale, Its Stout. I know. Oh yeah, Beer, I love you.