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, “you are so fine to me.” It was hard to tell if she meant to be heard. “Ambiguity, thy Name is Woman”, 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 life”s work to make fine beer.