Size Matters

So I went to Binga's Winga's, which features big beers and tiny burgers. I had three (my limit, of course) of the big beers: an HSA; a Harpoon IPA; and back to the HSA. The barmaid claimed they were 22 ounce beers, I'm sure that she was exaggerating. In any event, I'm not going to get into fractions. Three beer is three beer, it seems to me. I didn't have the tiny burgers, rather, I sampled other items on the menu. Maybe that's why my weigh-in result was reverse stock market like: losses early in the week gave way to gains.

The three beer brutality is particularly harsh on the weekends. It's now lunch time and I can't even think about that nice Saturday lunchtime ritual of a sandwich, a couple of beers, sports on TV, and a nap. I need to save my allocation for the evening.

I also face a new dilemma. I've been invited to a party where, presumably, beer will be served. Isn't it incredibly rude to stop at three? Isn't that an insult to the host? In this case, not only is the limit a form of physical, psychic, and emotional torture, it puts me in the awkward position of being disrespectful.