“Just try it,” he urged, holding out the glass in his hand.
I scrunched up my nose, “Eww. No. Beer’s gross. It all tastes like dirty dish water.”
To be fair, I was basing this brash statement off the maybe three different beer varieties I had consumed in my entire life. Not a convincing argument by any standards, but especially not one against a homebrewer.
He smirked, well aware of my drinking habits, or lack thereof.
“That’s why I like beer-there’s so many different kinds. There’s a beer out there for everyone.”
I think there is a pivotal moment (or moments, if one is truly lucky) in a person’s life where an adventure begins, whether it be a new chapter, a new romance, or simply a new hobby. For me, it was an intriguing amalgamation of all three. And that was my moment.
I could have let it go there-agreed to disagree, as the saying goes. But I am not that kind of person. My stubborn nature took this simple opinion as a challenge. And at first, that’s how it started. A thoughtless challenge- he drank beer often enough, I’d just try a few, genuinely not enjoy them, and be done with the whole lot of it. Point proven, case closed.
Ahh, but the best laid plans of mice and men…or, in my case, of malt and mash…