A few months back I decided to have a single night of not being a complete night owl. That’s right. I was in bed at 2:30 am. I had just chosen my movie to fall asleep to because even as an adult I like having a bedtime story, when my phone inevitably started going berserk.

It was an unknown number so I ignored the call, leading to a barrage of texts. When my curiosity finally trumped my social anxiety over strangers at 3am (a legitimate concern) I found myself talking to a couple of old friends I hadn’t talked to in well over a year and a half. One of them had a birthday that night and they were white girl wasted wanting to know if I wanted to hang out. Before I could even give an answer they announced that they were on their way. The designated driver told me that they were coming from the middle of nowhere and they would just need to find a wormhole and they’d be at my house soon. Excuse me, that should say “designated driver”.

The two got to my house about 30 minutes later with a case of beer, though I suppose wormholes are difficult to find so late at night. Half a beer into catching up and watching tv, birthday shots were needed. I keep a pretty decent-sized home bar so I grabbed some of my favorite bottles and some shot glasses.

Now I’m lucky enough to sometimes find a friend or two in high places who have given me expensive bottles that I would never buy myself. When the birthday boy saw the selection I’m pretty sure the hamster in his brain fell off of his wheel. Even in his incredibly inebriated state he carefully cradled each bottle carefully and asked if he could have just a small taste. And each time I laughed before pouring a couple of very healthy shots.

We passed away several hours like this including playing “Drawful” on my Xbox (I sincerely recommend this game for all events that include drunk people). Finally everyone just kinda crashed well after sunrise.

The next morning, as the birthday boy was nursing his hangover, we had a pretty great conversation that ended up helping to repair our friendship. Then the fool tried to pay me back for some of the nice whiskey I had shared the night before.

He was a fool, because that’s part of what whiskey is there for. Yes I love appreciating the beauty of the blend of art and science that goes into every bottle; however, this beauty shouldn’t be hoarded forever. No master distiller ever looks around his rickhouse picturing all the shelves his bottles will sit on untouched for decades. They picture all of the memories and events that their hardwork will be a part of.

Tomorrow isn’t promised, so crack open some of those bottles you’ve been saving and make some memories wasting your whiskey with your loved ones. Because as gravediggers and scientists have shown us, even the great pharaohs couldn’t take everything with them.