Issue Four... Relations...

It is true that one cannot live in a vacuum. There are always others that follow the individual. Even if you love a woman, or women if you happen to be in Utah, there are always the others… waiting… I call this issue Relations.

Irish Cream has a family. Members of this family include the rather curmudgeonly father Whiskey, the outgoing brother-in-law Tequila, the caring sister Coffee, the soothing mother Milk, the good-natured bother Rum, the stern grandmother Vodka, and Absent, that odd old uncle no one likes to talk about. All in all, a nice group of people, a very “up” bunch. They always accept you, they always love you, they love to party with you, they don’t care about the details of your job, future, or doubt you… if you love Irish Cream, that’s good enough for them!

Now we move to a woman’s family. She generally has at least a set of parents, and generally siblings thrown in for good measure. These people have a tendency to skeptical, touchy, or otherwise conspiring to sabotage any relationship. By way of evidence, allow me to present common humor. How many jokes do you know that begin “so my mother-in-law comes over,” or “and then her mother says,” and let’s not forget “take my mother-in-law, please….” Try inserting any of Irish Cream’s family into those jokes instead, I’ll wait. Did it work? Of course it did not. Why? Mostly because Irish Cream’s relatives don’t talk, they just offer joy.

So, in the Issue of Relations, yet another clear victory for Irish Cream.

Issue Three... Ramifications...

Things happen… sometimes you have too much to drink, sometimes you get married, and in both cases Fate kicks you in the face for it. It’s never pleasant to dwell on the affects of an excess of something wonderful (such as Irish Cream) and even if dwelling on the affects of something unpleasant (like marriage) is natural, it is far from enjoyable. But this discussion does seek to delve ALL of the different facets of the complex differences between Alcohol and Marriage, even the more sorted ones. So we reach the subject of ramifications.

It is hard to drink TOO MUCH Irish Cream. It is, after all, very rich, creamy, and beige. If it helps, think of the other drinks we all enjoy, like whiskey, or perhaps vodka. These generally are accepted has having a little more hoopswaw in their amway. However, whatever your flair of choice, it is possible to hit the bottom of the cup three or four times too many. When that happens, ramifications begin to set in. Ramifications that Bacchus gave his children included a morning of grogginess, a head that splits like cordwood, and the disturbing feeling that everything you drank last night is still there…. waiting… (if you happen to be less than fortunate, it will only wait for so long before coming out to play. While it is true that none of these aftermaths are overly enjoyable, they are easily dealt with. An easy way is to curl into the fetal position on your bed and moan for a few hours. Another easy solution is the Prairie Osiers. This wonderful concoction of lemon juice, soy sauce, and raw egg whites generally disgusts you so much that you forget about your hangover.

If only the ramifications of marriage were so easily handled. I present a picture worth more than ten thousand words…

As one can see, the ramification of excessive marriage (sometimes even non-excessive) is babies. Babies smell, are loud, demand constant attention and last for several years. These are all things I personally find detestable. While babies might be temporarily quieted via many different means, they always come roaring back with a passion that eclipses their original fury by many volumes. Moreover, I have often found the undesirable odor of babies and the excessive noise of babies to be related, giving them a very unhealthy two for one in many cases. The list other side effects of babies goes on, but I feel we have more than covered the ill-effects of Irish Cream excess.

In conclusion… excessive Irish Cream=Hangover… excessive Marriage=Babies… Was this really a contest?

Issue Two... Many and One....

As one might have guessed, there is more than one issue that sets Irish Cream above Marriage in the list of awesome things. I call the second issue Many and One.

A few days ago, I ran out of Irish Cream. Rather than panic at the lack of its beautiful rich creamy and beige presence in the house, I merely trundled off to the store, a mere twenty dollars in tow, and picked up a replacement bottle. As I enjoyed a fifth glass of its smooth goodness, I pondered this is far from the first bottle of Irish Cream I have owned and, should the Lord tarry, far from the last. So many bottles, each bringing such universal goodness to my life. It is indeed heartwarming. Ah, but compare this to the while of a woman!

Recently Sarah has been away on a business trip, leaving me alone. If Sarah is gone for several days, it is impossible for me to jaunt to the store and pick up a new Sarah. Even if I took it into my head to get a different woman it would cost me a good deal more than twenty dollars to wine and dine myself into a second engagement (the first one broke me as it was…). Rather than an endless supply of Sarah waiting to be picked up at any of a dozen locations, there is only ONE Sarah, who not only is not always here, but sets the times for when she can be picked up. As I understand certain polygamous groups have sought to thwart this issue however, while I applaud their efforts, I am not so blind as to miss how Sarah would respond to the suggestion. Not as well as the bottle of Irish Cream that is about to be replaced I assure you.

In conclusion, Marriage=One, Irish Cream=Many. Another easy win for Irish Cream.

Issue one... pre-marital counseling...

If you go into the store and pick up a bottle of vodka, whiskey, rum, or even that beloved nectar of the gods that we call Irish Cream, you will find the acquisition process surprisingly simple. One merely walks to the counter, hands a meager amount of the quickly failing dollar across, and is rewarded with a telltale brown paper sack that is meant to disguise your purchase from prying eyes. If one is exceptionally lucky and blessed with a continually youthful face, you might be forced to present a form of ID, justifying your presence in the store with a government regulated proof of maturity. Baring this one minor inconvenience, the exchange is flawless in its simplicity. If you are competent enough to get here and pick something out, you are probably competent enough to drink it…

Contrast this with proving your maturity in the process of marriage. After an eternity of proving yourself to various familial relations, the actual joy of pre-marital council begins. Far from the waving of an ID card, CHBC dumped two massive three-ring-binders into my lap, each containing nearly a thousand pages of microprint and now expects me to read them. Perhaps worse, they also expect Sarah to read them. This leads to a disastrous consequence. Sarah now has, what I like to scornfully call, “ideas.” Never in all my experience has it been a good thing for a woman to get “ideas.” The first woman to get an idea thought war, suffering, thorns, disease, and mortality would be a good trade for the Knowledge of Good and Evil (incidentally, we now have to wear clothes… way to go ladies, that was a great idea). Sarah’s new idea involve things like budgets, men leading the home, and her getting something call “love.” All that I can say is I have never had a bottle of Baileys’ get an “idea,” or if it did, it never said it out loud. At least, not until you get to about glass thirty-seven, then it might start talking, but it never cares if you don’t listen…

In conclusion, marriage=counseling, Irish Cream=ID at Counter.
Easy first win for Irish Cream