On the third night, I handed my sweetie a tall slender Pilsner. Perfectly poured. While holding it up and gazing either at it, or through it at me, she said softly, â€œyou are so fine to me.â€ It was hard to tell if she meant to be heard. â€œAmbiguity, thy Name is Womanâ€, I nearly uttered. Whether she was speaking to me, or to the beer, it was merely semantics. The deal was sealed. I would make it my lifeâ€s work to make fine beer.
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