I Saw Your Chug, But I Did Not Send A Chug

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I hope this message finds you well, and further hope nothing between us had changed in light of the recent events that have transpired over the last few days. In any case, please don’t take my actions, or lack thereof, personally. I just wasn’t in a place on Friday evening to reply to your chug.

I saw your chug; however, circumstances outside of my control prevented me from properly replying to said chug.

For one, I’m 32 years old. I feel 29, but those days are behind me. Don’t take that the wrong way- I’m sure there are plenty of people in their early-thirties seeing chugs, and then sending chugs of their own – but I’m not in a place in life that allows me to both see your chug, and also send a chug. It’s honestly a minor miracle I’m even on Snapchat, and I think that expecting a response video of me chugging an alcoholic beverage is a little lofty, no?

I’m happy that you’re able to freely fire out chugs of your own, though. That’s really cool. How else would we know that you’re drinking beer? We wouldn’t. We’d have to take your word for it when you texted us the next day about your hangover. You must’ve really tied one on!

Next, please understand that I was at a restaurant with my in-laws, and holding a phone up at the table whilst pouring ale down my gullet didn’t seem like the move at that moment. Right? I am right about that, aren’t I? I mean, we weren’t at some stuffy joint downtown like Spaghetti Warehouse, but I don’t think it would have gone over well. I’ve done a fairly decent job concealing my propensity for letting it rip, and it should go without saying that I’d like to keep it that way. Turning my bone-chillingly cold local brew upside down and polishing it off again did not seem like the move.

Finally, at the end of the day I’m just not a huge drink-beer-all-fast-and-stuff kinda guy. Sure, if I happen to find myself at a charity golf outing I’ll take part in a ceremonial group shotgun. It would be poor etiquette not to. But that’s pretty much where I draw the line. This will sound crazy, but I’m not sure pounding a beer yields the type of results I’m looking for these days. Let’s see.

Bloating? Check
Frequent Urination? Check
Increased Risk of Vomit? Check
Violent Burps? Check
Watery Eyes? Check
Increased Risk of Real Bad Hangover? Check
Good Buzz? Check
Letting Everyone Around You Know You Party? Check

By my count, the negatives outweigh the positives. At this point in the ball game, I don’t really need people to see evidence that I’m drinking to enjoy it. I know, I know. What’s the point of doing it if I’m not going to tell everyone about it? Touché. But I’m a 32-year-old on the weekend, so maybe you should just have faith that I’m enjoying a big boy drink even though I’m not forcing you to watch me do it. Maybe.

Let’s not let this event drive a wedge between us. I promise I’ll casually hold a cocktail in my hand while I stand off to the side of a very forced Instagram at some point in the near future. That way you’ll really know I’m partying..

Image via Shutterstock

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Dave

Lawyer. Writer. Dude doing business. I'm the meatloaf guy from tv.

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