Girly Beer

I've decided that Saturday night doesn't count. Friday is what matters. For some reason I am absolutely powerless to keep from staying out too late or enjoying too much cheer on Friday night. I don't know if it is the combination of beginning the weekend and the end of the week, or a type of self mutilation.

Last Friday I set up everything so that I would not be tempted to go out. Then my romantic supper turned into a fiasco when all they served was light beer. Mark's bottom lip protruded further out then a boat dock. Their girly beer sunk my plans. The pub it was.

And, of course, I always seem to have plans the following night. Logically, you should go home early and be in bed before the bar closes if you have to go out the next night. Yet, some how, it never works out that way. For some reason Friday night, that night, is ALWAYS way more fun then anything that is ever going to happen to me again in the history of the universe. I think I have impulse control problems.

Picture from Flickr