My girlfriend and I were enjoying some beers (nice) as we made dinner together a couple of weeks ago.
"Hey," she says, and I look over from cleaning some dishes. "Did you do this?" Her beer bottle's label has been completely removed, not a rogue strip or glue remnant in sight. I say no, and she says she didn't either. We test another bottle to see if we can even recreate such a clean tear job. Not possible. But surely I'd done it, she's convinced. "This is the worst prank anyone could ever pull." OKAY, neither of us did it, let's put it behind us and enjoy "The Sopranos" like a goddamn family!
I go to the fridge for another beer. It still has its label, and I know this because labels are the only thing on either of our minds at this point, and possibly forever. I bring it back to the couch and settle in with a couple of sips, then put it down. A few minutes pass. "I just opened this," I say looking down, so sad, at my bottle.
"Okay …" she says. "I didn't do that."
The label isn't there.
Erin Sullivan lives in Portland, Oregon.