When you gotta go, you gotta go

I was staring at a glass last night -- the lovely and talented Cricket just kept bringing them -- and this thought came to me: How many more of these before my mind moves from its wonderfully mirthful state to something less charming, like sad and self pitying?

And that's the wonder of beer. Not hard liquor, which can flat-out maim your brain. Beer, especially the garden variety made famous in Milwaukee, allows you to watch the cresendo build. When you get dialed in on beer you can almost count the hops as you go.

Which became my problem last night. I was counting hops, and doing a pretty good job, but I wasn't sure how many more hops I had to go before I had to go. It would have been a perfect time to get up, head over to the juke box and punch in "There Stands the Glass.'' But this wasn't 1953, the year Webb Pierce turned that weeper into a honky tonk classic. And the beer wasn't a nickel a glass.

Cricket, ever alert, noticed my empty glass and gave me an inquiring look. I nodded. One more, I thought, and I'm outa here.