I went grocery shopping Tuesday. Beer was on the list.
I went into the beer section and spied this (you realize, people, that you are dealing with someone who goes to the supermarket and takes photographs of a beer price tag). A 30-can case of Pabst would put me back $16.05 (I love the $0.05). I thought that was as beautiful a thing as I'd ever seen. Shitty beer for about fifty cents a can! I muscled a case into my cart.
At home, I put the Pabst in the garage, which is also goddamn righteous: a case of shitty canned beer in a garage in Cleveland, Ohio. I know who I am. The whole experience just kept getting better and better.
I pulled out a few cans to load into the fridge as we're on the cusp of cold enough/not cold enough-to-drink-the-beer-straight-from-the-garage weather.
Oh dear reader--just wait until you behold the perfect end to this Beerella story!
The Goat came home after a 12-hour shift. And as I fixed him a plate of shitty leftover chicken, while still in his work shirt with the name patch, he went to the fridge and pulled out a Pabst, sat down, cracked the beer and commenced eating and drinking.
Never was there a more holy domestic scene. I watched on, tears of pure bliss squeezing from my eyes. Oh beautiful life!