Waking Up On the Wrong Side of the Dead

What kind of beer do you want? "I prefer it cold but I will drink it hot, or even sour, if that is all you got." It was his well worn key-note address to the question. I never made fun of him when he tried to dance but I always laughed, and I loved to watch him fall on the winter ice, the same as his dancing, flapping arms, and legs like a chicken shot with a B-B-gun. He could fall for fifteen yards or more, always landing on his butt then he would smile up at me and claim "Your turn." He drove that old Cadillac like all the graveyards were full. It took them half an hour with the jaws of death to unwind him from around that tree. He told me, more than once-- "When we are older we will have to settle down." He was always leaving the hard work for me.