Isn't it funny how beer ads and commercials often feature at least one bikini-clad babe prancing around with a bottle suggestively clasped in hand, laughing and joking around with her mates on a beach somewhere? Well if anyone stopped to think about it, they'd realise how ridiculous that notion is. Yep, young people are always gathering for parties with their friends, drinking beer and frolicking about...but I guarantee there will not be a bevy of size 0 beauties prancing about with concave, 'Victoria's Secret' tummies and putting away several bottles in a session.
Simple. Beer makes you fat. It gives you a beer belly. It is notorious for filling up your tummy with empty calories and air and has no nutritional value whatsoever. So....
A more realistic representation of beer commercials would be a bunch of overweight dudes sitting about with their pudgy, beer-loving, muffin-topped girlfriends, chomping on crisps and asking their mates to toss another one over (being too lazy to get up and get one themselves). There would be little if any frisbee playing and less flirtatious looks and more burping. Yuck.
So it is with all this in mind that I was rather relieved to put an abrupt halt to my short-lived but not insignificant beer drinking career. You see, a long-timer here in Goa informed me a few days ago that my beloved Kingfisher Beer is made with glycerine and that if you open a bottle under water, keeping your thumb firmly pressed against the opening, it is possible to see the globules of glycerine float in revolting liquified dollops to the top. Eeeeew!
That's all I needed to hear. After all, I became a vegetarian for almost equally off-putting scenarios which I was never able to fully exorcise from my mind.
And so the beer drinking curse has been lifted. I now order fresh lime soda's and water with my meals and have lost all in interest in beer. Which is good I suppose, as 90% of the coming months will be spent in a bikini and given the choice I'd prefer not advertise my love of Kingfisher beer by posting a free advertisement on my waistline.
The other benefit I suppose is that when I go to pick up Dumpie from kindergarten in future, it is likely that he will have made me a little bowl or a picture frame - and not (as happened last week) proudly be displaying the 'beer opener' he made for Dada and I at craft time (oh dear).
Of course, the lack of beer means that I will have nothing to wash down the deliciously spicy 'Masala Papads' with, and more importantly, have no means with which to take 'the edge off' when the monsters start throwing sand or chasing each other around the table at mealtimes.
Instead I suppose I'll have to glean comfort from my rather flatter belly and try and not stare longingly across the table at the husband who shall be imbibing with a knowing smirk on his face...wondering when I'll cave in.