Saturday night was going to be busy for the Paulsen kids with two boys headed to separate parties.  There’s your context.

At 3:30, I stood in the kitchen contemplating my evening’s shuttle bus duties.  Growing tired at the thought, I grabbed a beer.  My touch upon the can of beer triggered a worried look from my wife.  She expressed concern about beer on my breath, when dropping off the kids.

I understood.  I understood, but was sad. More beer would need to wait.

Two Hours Post-Beer Prohibition (5:30 PM CST) – First kid dropped off, with zero people within breath smelling distance.

Three Hours Post-Beer Prohibition (6:30 PM CST) – Second kid dropped off, minimal interaction.  Doubtful that anyone cared about my breath.

Now, the long wait.  The wait for the calls to be picked up.

Tick, tock.  Tick, tock.  I waited for the beer.  The beer waited for me.

Six Hours Post-Beer Prohibition (9:30 PM CST) – First call to pick up a kid.  I pulled up.  The kid jumped into the car.  No muss, no fuss.  No breath smelling took place.

Six and a Half Hours Post-Beer Prohibition (10:00 PM CST) – Approaching the door to collect the final kid, I suspected that a parent would finally be within breath smelling distance.  All of my beer waiting patience would pay off.  Then their dog took objection to my presence and the mom had to hold Cujo back.  Close call, but the night ended with zero folks within breath smelling range, although the dog probably judged me.

I know.  I know, you are thinking, “Oh David, you poor soul.  We feel so bad for you.  How do you survive?”

Okay, your sarcasm is justified, but I tell you, the pain was real.  The waiting was hard and oh the eventual pleasure in reuniting with that 10:01 PM CST beer was real.