Four Beer Friday

Frank works hard all week. So by the time Friday is here, he’s ready to let loose.

This past Friday involved a wild night at our church with a fish fry and then a little stations of the cross. After that we hit Blockbuster and got Good Luck Chuck. (Frank’s reaction: “I feel dumber for having watched it.”) Sometimes we also watch 20/20—if we can stay up that late. (Hey, we’re on Eastern time! It doesn’t come on until 10:00pm here!)

But no Friday would be complete without Frank’s four beers. For some reason it’s always four. When he gets to the fourth I inevitably say, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” And he says, “I’ve still got half a beer left. I’ll be in a little while.”

Every now and then he’ll come with me and bring his beer to bed with him. That’s okay with me but I don’t really like seeing the empty beer can on the nightstand in the morning. I mean, last time I checked, our house wasn’t on wheels.

Even if we don’t wake up to the beer on the nightstand, I can always count on waking up to another sight: Frank’s clothes strewn about the living room. Usually I find shoes and a button down shirt and sometimes, if I’m lucky, pants.

This past Saturday I just found a button down shirt—in the kitchen. Not sure how that happened but when I asked Frank how he felt Saturday morning he groaned and said, “Four Beer Friday.”