Dear Dave

I have a small confession to make.

There won't be the same amount of beers in my fridge as there were when you left last weekend.

I know, I know. You KNEW it, right? You knew if you left beer in my fridge I would totally swill it while you were gone like some sort of alcohol junkie. Or open it, take one taste and dump it out.

But it didn't go down that way. Honest.

Those beers were in mint condition, just waiting for your return, up until about half an hour ago.

As you know, my dear, today right after work I went on a quest to find shorts that didn't make me look like a big fatty. It was a long, tiring endeavor and I didn't even end up with any shorts.

I did get some capris, which my mother bought for me. Remind me to tell you the story of how she forced me to let HER buy them as opposed to paying for them myself. Hilarious... but I digress.

I took too long shopping. I knew I did. I was having such a nice time by myself strolling around after my mom left, dodging unruly chidren running amok with no parental supervision because Mommy was too busy hitting on the prize-winning thugs that troll around the mall on Friday nights looking for the hood rat of their dreams. I found some great sales. I was in my own little world.

Then I remembered Joe, that beast. I knew it had been too long, that he was used to me coming home by 5 and that I would pay for my neglect in one way or another.

I just assumed it would be a puddle of urine on my hardwood floors.

I did not, you see, expect him to have dragged the garbage out all over the house. The garbage that contained what was left of my hair dye... which he had taken into the living room, streaking my carpet black.

I thought I was going to maim him (I also hoped he didn't ingest any of the dye).

Instead, I put him outside, cleaned up the mess, put some stain remover on the spots to soak and looked for a suitable place to sit and cry.

Then I remembered your glorious, glorious beer.

(At this point you're probably wondering, "Why the fuck couldn't she just go get a six pack of that shitty Bud Select 55 she loves so much?" Well, Dave, I was in my underwear, OK?! I was in my underwear cleaning up garbage and hair dye and holding back tears because it was really hot in the house and I couldn't stand being in my jeans a moment longer and the trash was just EVERYWHERE. I didn't want to put pants on and they won't let people without pants into stores! At least not stores in Lambertville...)

So I decided that you, being the generous, kind man I know you are, would have WANTED me to have some of that beer you left in the fridge. Had you been with me when I came home to Garbage Armageddon I imagine you would have wordlessly walked over to the fridge, grabbed an icy cold beer, opened it, gave me a kiss and handed it to me.

Or at least that's how it would've went down in my version of it.

Anyway. I took a date stamped photo of your beer while it was still intact. Please refer to the picture below.

See? There's the three Harpoons, the can of Hell or High Watermelon, the bottle of water my mom gave you when we went to meet her and Larry... and off to the side, please note the bottle of Pyramid Haywire Hefeweizen (which WILL still be here waiting for you because I don't drink things I can't pronounce).

At the time of this blog, your collection is one Harpoon less. But I'm not crying thanks to you and your unwitting generosity. You're like a Beer Spiderman or something cool like that. I shall try my hardest not to dwindle the supply down too much more.

Why am I making a blog out of this? First, I need something to distract me so I don't beat my dog. Second, I know after BeerDumpedDownSinkGate and the Intercourse Brand Beer Disappearance, your faith in my ability to leave your beer alone is not very strong. Third, it's kind of funny now that I think about it- you're chuckling too... right?

Hey, look at the shirt I bought! (Distractions are always helpful)




You're number one. Really.





XOXOXOXO Your Well-Meaning, Adoring Girlfriend