For the past few weeks I have been patiently in pursuit of two things, the first of which is a monster supply of frozen milk. [Eww. I know. That is so weird, right? I still think that is kind of creepy and strange.] The second is a blueberry flavored beer. [Still strange, but not creepy.]
My story begins yesterday afternoon when, as I failed to mention in my previous post, we stopped to buy beer on our way home from that marathon of errands. Without even needing to ask me what I wanted, Chris went into the store and emerged with a six pack of Wild Blue.
I had been lusting after it for months. Several people have asked me what alcoholic drink I would have first when I was ‘allowed’ to drink again. I always answered Wild Blue, fantasizing about its not so subtle sweetness, bold blue hue, and its perhaps too high 8% ABV. I am fairly certain that it was the last adult beverage I consumed last Spring and I was more than excited for it to be my first post-pregnancy drink.
Perhaps this was my downfall.
I’m not going where you probably think I am. I did not succumb to the whole six pack in all of its 8% ABV glory.
After talking through a pump and dump plan, estimating milk thawing needs [eww], and probably hyping this up way too much, I cracked open a Wild Blue and curled up in my favorite chair in front of a football game.
Some time later, after drinking the neck of the beer, it occurred to me that it did not taste how I remembered. When I told Chris, he of course reminded me that I was, after all, drinking disgusting blueberry flavored beer. What did I expect? Naturally, I expected its blueberry goodness to dance on my tongue, alleviating any guilt that I was feeling over using the precious freezer milk so I could drink alcohol [Seriously, what kind of derelict am I?] and wasting ounces of milk and hours of my time on this whole pump and dump thing.
I decided that beer #1 must be skunked, so I abandoned it, still full to above its label, and opened a fresh one, convinced that it would fulfill my wildest Wild Blue dreams.
No dice. It was still nasty.
I drank that one anyway.
Right. So where did all this get me?
Mostly just feeling let down by an experience that I had built up way too much. Kind of the same feeling that I get after eating frozen pizza or store-bought desserts, but with the added disappointment of wasting 12 ounces of what has become the most important commodity in our household. The milk that is, not the abandoned beer.
The moral of this story is that I need to select my beers much more carefully in the future.