"...also, does beer even have an expiration date?"
"...Last time I tried this, I didn't get sick."
Only when my legs started to feel numb did I realize I'd been pondering these questions with the fridge wide open. I thought, "what the hell," and took a tentative sip - phew. Still carbonated. I decide I'll survive, and head for the couch.
What prompted this train of thought, were fruit flies. The scourge of every 20-something who hasn't figured out how long you can avoid getting fruit flies before taking the trash out (the answer we all "know" but don't know is that you should always take it out when it's full, no matter what). I was replacing my DIY trap (99% beer, 1% dish soap) in an oh-so-hipster Mason jar, that, of course, I found out about on Pinterest. And like many DIYs on Pinterest, this actually works, but only takes about 1/4 of a can of beer. My debate with myself was in trying to decide what to do with the other 3/4 of the can. Saving it for future fruit fly trap use didn't cross my mind.
It should be noted that I had to have this debate with myself because I'm living solo for the year. Not having parents or roommates means yeah, I'm in complete control of my living environment, but crap, what do I do when I have a crazy question that I don't trust the internet for? Today's quintessential beer-expiration-date question is a prime example.
I'm launching this blog for several reasons. One, I've forgotten how therapeutic writing can be for me. Two, I feel a burning desire to document my learnings as a hot-mess, first-time, look-Mom-I'm-really-on-my-own, apartment dweller. The name is in homage to the Iroquois Nation's proverb, "With every major decision, first consider it's impact on the next seven generations." Please excuse the phonetic spelling of "generations".
Loony installments about questions I should probably know the answer to will come when inspiration strikes. Or once a week, whichever comes first.
Live well & do good,
Mary
