...it was the end of a long day, the sun was just setting in the west. As with most sunsets, the wind rose slightly and it blew gently into the face of Jill. Jill's brilliant amber hair danced in the wind and failing light, with the tree tops in perfect rhythm, as she headed inside. She was all done with a long hard day and was ready for a beer.
Once inside, she makes her way slowly to the cabinet and in the flash of an eye produces her favorite beer glass. This was no ordinary beer glass, it was a tall shapely glass that would easily hold all of a 22 ounce bomber. It has her initials laser etched into the most bulbous area of the glass, like a naughty tattoo.
Jill saunters over to her refrigerator while trying to decide what kind of beer she wants, after all it has been a long, hard day. She pulls the door handle of her newly rebuilt classic Philco fridge with a loud metallic "click". The familiar "whoosh" of air sounds as the seal of the door is broken. She stands there looking wantingly at her meager beer selection. She trys to quickly scan the beers as to not let the cold air out but is having trouble trying to decide on what it is she is so desperately craving.
She reaches for a pint Young's Luxury Double Chocolate Stout and shuts the door with another resounding metallic "click". The beer is ice cold and is almost instantly covered in condensation. She presses it against her neck to help cool her off, her head slightly canted away from the bottle to expose her skin. A small bead of condensation runs down her neck and as it starts to warm, it is absorbed by her blouse. Setting the beer down on the counter and grabbing her glass, Jill has a blank look on her face as she stares at her beer. She is just is not quite ready for a stout this early in the evening. She sets the bottle on a neatly folded towel upon the counter. She gently says,"You will just have to warm up for me."
In the time it takes her to turn around she knows exactly what she wants. Jill, after all, was a Pink Boot Society member and had one of the best IPAs anyone had ever tasted at her club, she is hoping it will win best of show at a state competition.
With glass in hand she heads to her kegerator. Carefully she places her glass under her Perlick faucet and effortlessly pulls the tap handle forward. A light golden beer flows smoothly down the length of her glass. An overload of fresh cascade and centennial hops assault her nostrils. As the glass fills, she stops the pour just short of it overflowing. It is the perfect pour. Her laser etched initials appeared to be holding the billowy head above the golden liquid. Thousands of tiny bubbles erupt upwards as the head rises just enough to make a dome over what would be the top rim of the glass. One tiny drip of foam slides slowly down the side of the glass and is caught by the stainless steel drip tray.
The pungent smell of hops now has overpowered all other smells in the room. It almost burns her eyes as she hefts the glass to her quivering lips. The head tickles her upper lip as the forty degree liquid erupts into her dry anticipating mouth, the beverage seems to actually dance across her tongue. The strong hops is well balanced by the malty pilsner barley she used when brewing it. "Perfect.", she proclaims. She takes another large drink and heads over to her favorite chair to watch the hockey game.
She giggles when she sees a Miller "triple hopped" commercial during the pregame show as she sips her IPA, lovingly.
-fin
Just made that one up 
