I’M having a dalliance with light beer.
It’s hard for me to admit it this, but heavy beer just isn’t very kind to me anymore. We had a sweet relationship for many years. Sure, she beat me up a little and there were even times when I swore we’d never get back together. But her allure was strong.
Of course, I knew our relationship was one sided. I needed her more than she needed me. It was always unrequited love. How can you have a proper relationship with a girl who is passed around and by so many other men, not to mention more than a few women?
Where I used to indulge in her by the bucketful, now I can only take a few generous sips. The beatings she gives me now are a lot more severe, even though I take a lot less. What I don’t understand is, after so many years of devotion, why she should turn so completely against me? Why does she treat me so shabbily?
Truly my devotion to her has bordered on religious. I even tried to brew her at home, creating a poison that was fit for neither man nor beast – but very effective as a snail killer (no, I’m not joking). My other significant partner – the flesh and blood one – has laid down on the law on more than one occasion: ‘It’s me or her.’ And while my wife could never be usurped, I’ve maintained my relationship with heavy beer. Our meetings, though, are briefer and less frequent.
My dalliance with light beer took place over the past few days. I bought a six pack for the weekend. I showed my wife quite proudly. ‘Look, darling, light beer,’ I announced.
‘Won’t last,’ she replied.
I assured her it would. But my commitment to this new amber mistress is already beginning to wane. Sure, we can get it on all night long. I don’t even need the protection of a paracetamol or a Barocca before we go to bed. Nor do I need that greasy morning after pill of fried eggs. With light beer you wake up happy and cheerful, free of guilt and with no unwanted consequences.
But there is a catch. She’s not as good. She doesn’t make me feel the same as I did when I was in the throes of passion with heavy beer. I like my relationships to be a little complex. I know light beer would never hurt me, but I know she won’t take me to the same dizzy heights as heavy. She won’t kill me, but nor will she kiss me with the same ardour.
And it’s probably the reason I’ll walk away from her, our brief but unfulfilling affair confined to a solitary weekend. I probably won’t say anything to her, probably won’t even leave her a note. I know that there may be some embarrassment if I see her at the pub or the supermarket bottleshop.
If she forced me to explain my leaving her, I’d say: ‘Honestly? You want an answer? Well if you must know, you just don’t do it for me, baby. I could never love you the way I love her. She hurts me, I know. But there’s just not the same spark between us. It’s not you, it’s me. But don’t sweat it. You’ll find someone else. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.’