Last night I thought to myself, “Self, I might like a beer tonight.”
Self replied, “It’s Monday.”
Self: “Do you really need beer on a Monday?”
Me: “I didn’t say I need a beer, I said I might like a beer.”
Self: “Too bad. There’s no beer in the fridge.”
Me: “Oh. Well, that’s easily fixed.”
Self: “Really? Do you really want to get in the car and drive halfway across town to the Beer Store? There are only so many hours between Kiddo’s bedtime and the time you turn into a pumpkin. And weren’t you going to do some writing tonight.”
Me: “Hmm good point, Self. Still, we should get beer sometime this week so we have it for the weekend. We have company coming after all. And it’s Canada Day weekend. If I wait until Friday the Beer Store will be way too busy. It won’t take too long, I’ll still get my writing done. I promise.”
Self: “Whatever you say.”
I told Hubby my plan to go get beer. He was supportive. He did request that I swing by the Shell station on the way home and get some of those garbage
tax tags as it’s garbage day and we might be over the limit this week. No problem. I grabbed my wallet and keys.
On my way down the street, I noticed dark clouds on the horizon. By the time I was across the bridge raindrops were falling.
By the time I got across town Armageddon had arrived. Sheets of rain and ice pellets were coating my windshield faster than my wipers could swipe them away. I know hail is common during thunderstorms, but I have a grudge against Nature when she makes me deal with frozen water from the sky in June.
I was seriously reconsidering how badly I wanted that beer. But the Beer Store was in sight, so I pulled into the parking lot. I turned on a podcast and waited for the onslaught to let up. Eventually it did. Sort of. I got beer.
I went to the convenience store closest to the Beer Store. Turns out, they don’t sell garbage tags. There was a Shell across the street. Not the one we usually go to, but if one Shell sells them…it’ll be faster if I just jog over. By this time it was raining again. They don’t sell garbage tags either. I gave up, ran back to my car, and drove to our usual Shell station. I got garbage tags.
I came home soggy. I had a shower, and some tea, and a beer. I didn’t get my writing done.
Which brings me to today. Our Tuesday morning routine went as usual: dropped Kiddo at daycare, Hubby and I went to the gym, I dropped Hubby at work. On the way home, this came on the radio:
Have you ever found yourself sitting on the couch in the evening thinking, ‘Boy, I’d really like a beer.’
Only, you realize you don’t have any beer in the fridge. And you don’t really want to go all the way to the store to get one.
(It’s like they know me)
Wouldn’t it be great if you could have beer delivered to your door?
(That would be so great)
As it happens, starting today, the Beer Store in Ottawa will be trying beer delivery on a trial basis. I no longer live in Ottawa, so I won’t benefit unless it’s successful enough for the Beer Store to expand this idea to other locations. My first thought was, “Cool! It’ll be great if that catches on.”
My second thought brought me back to university, and I realized we were all probably better off that it took considerably more effort to get our hands on alcohol than it did to get a pizza. I can probably continue to survive without beer delivery.
On the other hand, if the liquor store got on board and we could get delivery wine…ok, ok I don’t really need that either. The list of reasons to leave the house is getting pretty small as it is (thanks, Amazon).