Bartenders

Every Sunday night Mike and I go to Old Chicago for dinner and beer. We rarely miss going and it has always been a good way to end the weekend and get ready for the week--no need to cook, super relaxed and our time together. Well, you don't go somewhere every week for years and not get to know, well everyone, in a restaurant. We are actually pretty good friends with the bartender. Mike plays golf with him, we BBQ with his family, pretty normal friend things. The problem is, I am pregnant, and our whole relationship with this person (and a few others) depends on beer consumption. Depends may be harsh, but it would definitely stand out if I just stopped drinking. We have even joked with him before that he would find out we were pregnant before most people. However, with all of the dangers with the baby lately, I really don't want to tell him about it until the second trimester. I don't want to tell anyone. But we still have to go to the bar and have dinner, it is our thing. So now I go and get a beer (I don't actually order it, I just sit down and it appears) and Mike secretly drinks it while drinking his. He has to drink twice a fast because otherwise it takes him too long to finish his, which looks suspicious too. Tonight his tactic was to take large gulps of mine when no one was looking. This made it look like I really liked my beer and resulted in a refill. So Mike had to down four beers in an hour, which cracks me up. Normally I am a little jealous that he can drink and I can't, but now it is that he HAS to drink, and I can't, which seems almost fair.