One of my favorite (over-used) concepts is having a “cross to bear.” That phrase is generally so over-the-top self-congratulatory and gloriously narcissistic that it is pretty much self-parodying.
“I’m just too smart for my own good, that’s my cross to bear…”
“I’m gorgeous and rich, that’s my cross to bear…”
“Palpatine knows what’s best for the Republic, that’s his cross to bear…”
I know too much about beer, that’s my cross to bear.
No, really…stop laughing, I’m being serous here!
It’s a terrible burden, having a foot (and several internal organs) in the craft-brewing world. I mean, c’mon, it’s hard going to new bars in new(ish) cities and trying new breweries when you know what various styles and types of beer are supposed to taste like.
Look, when I order a Czech-style pilsner, I expect a Czech-style pilsner…not a freaking wannabe-IPA. I hate (most) IPAs! Harrumph!!
Like I said, having actual beer-taste — and knowledge! — is my personal cross to bear.* It’s a terrible burden for which I’m willing to sacrifice myself in order to save you, because…because, well, that’s just me. I’m a giver.
*As opposed to, say, my complete inability to commit to long-term romantic relationships, or my arrested adolescence that (still) shows no sign of ending…
I’ll even go so far as to go to other places to discharge my moral duty of sampling beer. I mean, look, I’m sitting here in Bozeman, Montana — in preparation for going in to Yellowstone for the next six months — and what do I do? I spend half-an-hour discussing craft breweries with a couple of the taproom’s staff members (after bitching about my poor, not-really-a-pilsner pilsner).
Saving the world, one beer at a time, that’s me.
Annie was right, it’s a hard-knock life…and that’s just my cross to bear.