I must admit it: I've become old. Not aged and decrepit, ready for the home. But old in the sense that I'm not as young as I was not so long ago. Maureen and I were out four of the past five nights. These haven't been keggers and beer-pounding nights of debauchery, but they went later than my 30-something body and mind could handle.
It probably means I got out of shape. I don't drink as often (or as well) as I used to. Not to sound too proud of it, but I used to be able to pound back some beer. Good stuff like Guiness, Bass, Sam Adams, Sierra Nevada, and lots of other tasty ales and stouts. Now I tend to sip at cans of Miller Lite, Bud Light and even worse: Coors Lite. Watery, bland brews that sizzle on the tongue like a sip of Pepsi. My head and waistline are better off, but I had a lot of fun back then. I'm sure I could get back into drinking shape, but that's an expensive lifestyle and really not all that it's cracked up to be.
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