Beers Eye Drunk

Being a man, I can't turn down the primal allure of stuff 'n-a-can. A lot of my best memories involve cans, eating out of them or sitting on them, sometimes simultaneously. So, it's no surprise that when I saw Wexford Cream Ale, I didn't stop to ask myself if I like Cream Ales. I simply said, hey, it's in a can! And as if the can wasn't enough, there's a widget inside. Every man loves gadgets. Its hard not be as in enamored with the concept of the widget as with the draft-esque qualities of the beer inside. Perhaps, by the very nature of my being, I was doomed to be deceived. Alas, some fundamental truths can not be cloaked in a shiny can with a plastic doodad in it. I feel as though a little piece of my beer-innocence has died. You see, Wexfords is probably a fine beer... but I didn't like it... In fact, I don't like cream ales.

It's was tough to admit for me. Cream ales sound nice. Sounds creamy. Sounds Alcoholic. What's not to like? So, you go on a few dates, right? Feel each other out. I remember when I took Genny Cream Ale out to a picnic in Spring time, and we didn't really hit it off. I figured, maybe if I go a little further out of my way, spend a little more money on the occasion, maybe things would be different. Nope. Things went flat and lifeless pretty fast. There was no zest. No complexity. No spark. It made me long for a really painfully bitter stint with a pale ale. At least the bitterness would remind me I was having a beer in the first place, good or bad.

And that's kind of how I feel now. It's like I took a great looking girl to Disney Land and all she wanted to do was ride the tram. A sluggish, dull, watered-down, and generally un-appealing experience, but I want to make this clear to Wexford Cream Ale... It's not you, it's me, sincerely. Sure, you're distinct. You're something special. It's just that the two of us are in very different places right now, and you need someone who can appreciate you for who you are, and I need something that tastes less like wet hay.

I may try you again, when I've matured some, sewn my wild oats, or if I just plain get real desperate and feel I can delude myself into thinking we had some chemistry. Until then, I will go on with my life, a wiser, shrewder man, a tad more suspicious of things in cans with cool plastic thing-a-ma-bobs in them.