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Beer. Day 308.

Roger had a traditional, simple palate. He wasn’t into bold flavors or robust foods or drinks. He liked his coffee light and sweet, and although he was an evolved foodie, gourmet was not his thing.

“Take a sip of my merlot,” I’ve said to him.

“No,” he said laughing.

“Please? Just a little one.”

He was either over my annoying pestering or he loved the attention, so he took my glass and sipped a small amount of the deep, rich wine.

The face always changed immediately. I don’t think he could have possibly stopped it.

“Why do you make me do that?”

“I don’t make you!” Of course, by this point, I’m laughing.

He was like that with beer, too.

“Roger, we bought you that water you like,” my dad would tell him.

He was referring to Busch Light, his favorite beer, always in a can.

Today, I raise my tepid can of Busch Light and toast my husband on what would have been his fiftieth birthday.

Cheers to the gray that never was. Cheers to your birth and your legacy. Cheers to you!

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