I complain about him a lot, and I write about us fighting or shouting at each other a lot—partly because I honestly believe these things are vital to a healthy marriage, but also because they’re more entertaining than two people who snuggle and agree and say “I love you” over and over.
But then stuff like this happens, and I realize that I need to show you this side of our marriage sometimes. If for no other reason than to model the correct technique for interrupting your partner.
HIM: So I’m out of beer at home, finally.
ME: Yeah, he asked me if beer goes bad and I thought about it and said “go is the wrong verb.” So he asked if it gets worse and I didn’t have an answer.
HIM: Beer is how they used to preserve—
ME: But it does skunk—
HIM: If exposed to light. So if you use clear bottles—
ME: Who does that?
HIM: … like Miller High Life—
ME: Oooh, yeah, they do. And Coors! And Corona, bleh.
HIM: … Then you’re just asking for it to go bad—
HIM: … Yeah. Heineken uses green bottles, which helps because it filters out the infrared, but it doesn’t filter the UV at—
ME: You’d need an amber tint, like—
HIM: … Brown glass was basically invented for beer, yes.
ME: Oh my god, does this mean my sunglasses are literally beer goggles?
ME: You love me!
Note for beer lovers: please don’t try to help me. I hate beer because it’s gross, and that’s okay; you like it because it looks, smells, and tastes like someone else drank it first and no one is judging you for that.* I’ve heard that I “just haven’t tried the right beer” and as a result wasted many precious hours of my life at tastings. Give it up—I’m a lost cause. It’s the hops! I can’t stand ‘em. They make my nose wrinkle and my lips pull back and my tongue try to flee and seek asylum. Yes, there are beers made without hops, but there is also cider and wine and vodka and so many delicious options that I’m just gonna go ahead and leave the beer to the beer drinkers.
I feel like that’s a fair compromise.
* I am, obviously.