Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I never thought it would come to this, but I was wrong. The fact is that I needed a beer. Well, my goat actually needed it, poor hop is . . . constipated, and beer is the best mend for such a problem as that. But it is easier said than done ,since Hop is only a year old, he doesn't make any money, and he doesn't even drive. So it was up to me; i.e. responsible party.
I've never paid much attention to Utah's liquor laws, and yet now I am forced to wonder. Can I buy just one can of beer or do I have to buy a six pack? In Arizona I happen to know you can't buy beer before noon on Sundays, do they have laws like that in Utah? If I try and buy my beer at 9:00 am I going to be told to come back later. Talk about embarrassing. And then, I've seen signs that say "If you're lucky enough to look younger than 35 we'll need to see your ID", well I BETTER look younger than 35, since I'm not quite 33, but I recently plastered my small town with posters about my newly released LDS book. Would someone look at my license, look at me, look at my beer and make the correlation? With that fear in mind I decided to go to the liquor store, I figured that was my best bet on not running into anyone I know. But they don't open until 11:00 and I pick up my daughter at 11:00 so that won't work. I'm a fairly open minded person, but I'm not taking my 5 year old to the liquor store. Do they even allow kids inside?
So I went to Chevron. I bought a HUGE can, I didn't know they made them that big, and I decided to go with Budweiser rather than Miller or Coors because I like their super bowl commercials the best--but I did feel guilty that my $2 was supporting Anheuser Busch. They might buy a screw for their barley pots with my money! The clerk was pregnant which made me feel even worse, though I don't know why, and she did ask for ID. I'm afraid my hands were shaking as I took it out of my purse, which probably made her think I was in the middle of TDs. She looked at me, looked at the beer, looked at the ID, and asked if I wanted a bag.
"Oh, yes, please most definitely."
And I wonder, what am I afraid of? Why do I care? If someone sees me, I just tell them it's for my goats and my neighbors will understand, right?
Right! And yet I hid it from my kids and once Spongebob had them sufficiently distracted, I snuck out to put the beer in the goats dish. Guess what? Apparently they are Miller goats, not Bud goats. And in their opinion it neither tastes great or is less filling. They would have nothing to do with it. So a funnel and a water bottle later I had 24 oz of beer on my counter and decided that hiding it would not work since I needed help wrestling Mr. sick goat and forcing the beer down the throat. So I explained the need for the beer to the kids, and I let them all smell it in hopes that they would be so grossed out that when the day came they were tempted, they would remember the goat-beer and think again. I also explained why Hop needed the beer and that grossed them out even more. They are convinced beer gives you diarrhea, but again, that might work in my favor.
So, after all this, my 13 year old and I wrestled the beer down the goat's throat, well mostly, we both got a good dose on our pants and shoes. Can't wait until my daughter wears that jacket to young women's. However, it worked. You'll be glad to know that he is regular once again. Beer runs indeed!