Now I know what Sherman Hemsley felt like when he moved on up.
For years now I have been unofficial leader of a group of my buddies who meet for a few beers every Wednesday. I am 57, and our ages range from 44 to 60. We all realize the importance of the meetup is a joke, but play along that it is serious business, because beer. Kind of the way I continued to “believe” in Santa as the eldest child because presents.
The wives/SOs all play along as well. When Joe’s wife wanted him to attend her niece’s soccer match he was able to bow out, explaining that “kayaker expects me”. If I run into Beth at the grocery store she will scowl jokingly and “complain” about the Wednesday group. She realizes the positive impact it has on her husband’s mental health.
So, back before Thanksgiving I was approached by my buddy Chris with an odd request. He and his buddies meet sporadically at the same bar each Monday. Their attendance is spotty at best. They are all in their late 20s to mid 30s, and are all cool dudes. Chris wanted me to join the Monday group, adding some gravity to the proceedings.
I’ve given it serious thought, and a few weeks ago we gave it a try. The entire group showed up. I talked a bit about my penchant for sour beers. Joel told some stories about the time he got into some trouble in Las Vegas. At the end of the night the gang paid my tab!
Last night we all met again. I pointed out that I prefer to pay my way (to their relief) but that they could maybe pay my tab once a year, on the group’s anniversary. A good time was had by all, although the group breaks up promptly at 7:30 (the end of happy hour half-price drafts).
Life is good.
