Sweet, Sweet Beer, You are a Bastard - Love Blog Number 2

Beer.

You are like a dangerous ex boyfriend. I want you so much, I have loved you for so long but I know how bad you are for me.

Why do you tease me so?

You with your gentle amber effervescence, your cooling temperature, your sweet yet bitter dance on my tongue, your low cost, your friendly availability in such sizes as a jug...why?

What did I ever do to you? Why do you treat other people better than me?

I remember the first time we met, in my grand father's glass. He wouldn't let me spend too much time with you because he knew how much I liked you. We then later started a secret romance that my parents didn't know about, sneaking meetings in the park, at parties, on the beach. How you kept me warm at night, cool during the day, spurred me on to do things I would never otherwise do. Oh, the memories.

But you are cruel. You push my stomach out to bursting capacity and make my face go all puffy and red. It is even worse the next day with the memory of you and the smell of you on my breath, in my pores, my face as turgid as a newly blown balloon. I can't breathe when you are around. Literally.

So I had to stop. But I can't and you know it.

Just leave me alone! I'm hanging with vodka, can't you see? Even if she does cost twice as much. I even flirted with cider for a while there...let's just say I was settling for less than I deserved. Wine? I love wine but it makes me tired.

You know you are unparalleled. You know it! There are others who are better, out of your league even but you can't take them everywhere and my wallet can't cope. I just want you to stop staring at me, that's all. It's so hard when you're with my friends all the time, you don't understand. You don't make their faces expand? Why? Why just me?

Arsehole.

Sorry, I didn't mean that.

And as for your bitch cousin, bread, well, she's not much better. Tart. Worse than a tart. Part of a tart...sort of. In fact she's worse than you! At every restaurant I turn up to, there for breakfast, lunch and tea....sitting there all plump and fluffy by the olive oil, popping herself in the toaster when it's cold and drowning herself in salty butter. Nasty little temptress. I can't wake up when I have her, can't breathe, can't digest anything and she does the same thing to my face as you do. You're both trying to disfigure me. You grab me by the sinuses and throw me to the ground.

I am not that weak! You watch me. I don't care how hot it gets! I am never, ever, EVER going...to...oh...maybe... just...one more...time...

I love you.

Favourite thing today: Bee- No! So Much Art...So Few Bullets' new production at The Store Room. Look it up on www.sofewbullets.com or check out cotton's blog (no can link...traviscotton.blogspot.com?) and go see it! It's hilarious.