My husband just got a drinking table for our new apartment. This simply means that either hell has to freeze over or heaven has to go up in flames before he changes his stripes and gives up the artificial source of his spirited self. The old snob in me who used to have tea and cakes with dead classical musicians and writers would have quoted the raven’s “nevermore…” and promptly descended into madness. But I am not my old self.
I have seen the light and logic behind his band of drunk brothers. It is thanks to his brotherhood that we were able to transfer all our things to our apartment for free, get a cable internet connection where no lines exist and get price cuts on expensive appliances. I suspect his brotherhood will soon also assist us in getting discounts for the new baby’s infant formula.
Lo and behold the wonders of bonds formed over alcohol. Maybe I should learn how to drink too.