One man’s love note to the humble shower beer.
Oh, Shower Beer.
You are the almighty relaxer.
You are the ultimate creativity enhancer…for I am writing this after having you, Shower Beer.
You inspire me.
You, who are so cold when the water is so hot.
You, who have been waiting in the fridge for me all day, patiently, like a good friend.
Others have tried to reenact your experience — with coconut water, or wine coolers, or some kind of juice, perhaps — but their efforts are feeble and preposterous.
For only you, Shower Beer, are bestowed the bubbly bragging rights of “Best Shower Beverage.”
Your counterpart, Bathtub Whiskey, is nice, of course.
Elegant, regal, a fine sipper…but not an option, sadly, for I live in a small house with no tub and must reserve it for hotel visits and excursions home where I must first remove hair from the drain and wipe it clean with paper towels before settling into the water and being transported.
But you, Shower Beer? You are simple.
A throwback, perhaps, to my younger days.
Back then, you were a thing of novelty. To be enjoyed while on trips with friends, usually the morning after a late night of doing stupid teenager-type things.
But now, Shower Beer, I treasure you.
For you are the great reset button.
The end of launch-day ritual.
The “I’ve had a bad day and need to unwind” exhale.
The “I’ve had a good day and need to celebrate” exclamation.
You are many things, Shower Beer.
Naturally, you come in different containers and are comprised of different ingredients: Glass bottles. Cans. Stouts. IPAs. 40 ounces of malt liquor.
But I’ve always preferred you in your most humble form, the simple light ale in a can.
For in that simple design you are refreshing and not heavy and decidedly less dangerous than glass.
Because what if I should drop you, Shower Beer?
Oh what a catastrophe that would be. Can you imagine?
But I mustn’t think such deathly thoughts.
Because there you are, half-full (for I am an optimist) and cold and sitting on the little shelf next to my girlfriend’s shampoo and conditioner.
And I shall savor you and stand in this shower until not only you are finished but until my skin turns wrinkly and kinda burny due to my dry skin.
And when I’m down to your last sip, I will take a deep breath and feel the hot water on my head and close my eyes and know that yes, life is amazing.
And then I will set your empty vessel back onto the shelf (where I will inevitably forget you until the next morning), and I shall step out of that steamy portal, and I will towel off and think:
Did I wash my hair?
I don’t remember.