I’ve got the front door open today, because I’m trying to convince myself that it is warm enough outside to do such things (it’s not), and I just walked by and noticed this little gem sitting on the driveway:
I know where it came from – we had people over for pre-drinks on Saturday night – but I would love to know how it’s gone unnoticed by both Rhys and myself for the last four days. It’s about one metre from Rhys’ car – you think he’d have noticed it? So strange. It looks so unassuming and peaceful there, just quietly hanging out in the weeds, next to the asbestos fence.
Ironically the beer is right near where I go to have a puke when I’ve had too much to drink*. I’m sure I will forget about it and next time the need arises for spewy times, there will be the beer, taunting me.
* Let it be known that my alcohol-induced spewing isn’t connected to excessive binge drinking; I’m as likely to puke after two glasses of wine as I am after two bottles. Yes, I know. I shouldn’t drink. I’m cutting back – my stomach doesn’t really agree w/ booze, it seems. It only took me a decade to come to this conclusion, of course.
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