A blonde woman walks into a bar. Bartender says, “What are you having?” Blonde says, “I’ll take the double IPA.”
What’s the punch line? That’s the thing, there isn’t one.
I’m a woman. I wear a lot of elaborate, colorful outfits. I do my hair. I wear makeup. I occasionally enjoy the God-given blessing of a mani/pedi. But my manicured hand is not complete without a beer.
And I'm not talking lambics. Or pilsners. I'm talking the heavy artillery -- thick, dark stouts and porters, hopped-up IPAs, and their even hoppier aforementioned cousins. Yet throughout my years of consumption, I have failed to convince many bartenders that I actually like the stuff. I find that when I ask, “What’s good on tap?” I am often offered the lightest beer available. Occasionally, my attention is directed towards a certain tap handle with the words, “It doesn’t even taste like beer.” Don’t get me wrong, some of these lighter, fruit-infused beverages are magnificent and most certainly have their place (on a hot day, especially). But generally speaking, when I order a beer, I want, well, a beer.