Last Saturday night, on the eve of St. Patrick’s Day, I had the privilege to finish off the Burns Hotel’s last remaining bottle of Walker & Scott Irish Whiskey. On Sunday I went to London.
“Fishy taste like a squawfish on the beach”-Jim.
Date a boy who drinks. Date a boy who spends his money on fine alcohol instead of cars, who decorates his house with empty bottles instead of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit posters. Date a boy who has a list of beers he has tried, and a list of beers he aspires to try.
Find a boy who drinks. Not one who drinks ten Budweiser every Friday night, but one who tries a new beer every time he visits the craft beer section of the specialty liquor store. He’s the one who spends half an hour browsing in the liquor store, only to buy one beer. You see that weird guy asking for his whisky neat, and then having to explain to the sports bar waitress what that means? He’s the one you want. He can’t resist analysing the nose of the cheap whisky he just ordered.