We’ve got mates who claim not to care about beer — who swear blind that they really have no interest whatsoever in what they’re drinking, as long as it gets them tipsy.
“Great,” we are fooled into saying, “then let’s go to this pub where they have interesting beer.”
They look anxiously up and down the bar. “I don’t recognise any of these and I don’t like bitter. Is there a normal lager?”
“Try this one.”
“It’s a bit strong.”
“Okay, well… what about this one?”
“Mmm. I don’t care, I’m not fussed about beer, really. Just choose me something.”
Then, for the next half and hour, they eye the glass in front of them as if it’s got a turd floating in it.
When it’s time for the second round, you ask what they want. “I don’t mind. Not that one again, though.”
At the end of the night, only half-joking, they say: “Next time, can we go to a normal pub?”
There’s nothing wrong with liking what you like, but don’t kid yourself that we’re the fussy ones.