JD Willoughby and her homebrewing husband, Dave.

Ginger and Mary Ann slept in our bedroom last night. It gets crowded in the house when my husband goes on a bender. He stays up all night tending to his girls, sometimes several times in one night. I am actually thankful for the diversion they provide. It means he’s not focused on firing up chainsaws or grinding metal in the basement. That’s another story altogether.
   
Let me explain to you about how much we love the “girls” —
my husband’s favorite homebrews. Occasionally, there are no free spaces for beer buckets in the kitchen, bathroom, or living room. When this happens, we are forced to sleep with the frothy creations. I use the term “sleep” in a sarcastic context. I’m forced to smell the fermenting goodness that is Ginger and Mary Ann while I writhe on my mattress. It’s like trying to sleep in the middle of a bakery and not eat the delicious rolls and muffins in the display cases. More often than not, bucketed beer burbles away in the kitchen and, at times, the bathtub. Like a faucet dripping all night long, the buckets in the bathroom echo a consistent rhythmic prattle, the sound bouncing off the bare walls and floor throughout the house. My husband sleeps with his good ear in the pillow. I could carry on a conversation with the burping buckets or a blank wall and he’d never know.
   
I’m fairly open-minded, but I refuse to share the mattress or covers with “the girls” so they huddle on the floor next to the heat vent. I also refuse to call the buckets by their names. I reserve that for the finished product, one that will hopefully make me forget that the kitchen floor is covered in beer and the walls are splattered with malt extract. I try to ignore my socks making that light adhesive sound as they peel off the beery floor and focus my attention on the stars of the night — Ginger and Mary Ann.
   
My husband has been a homebrewing superstar for years, and most of his batches are claimed before they’re even racked. Friends ask for Ginger and Mary Ann by name as though they’re calling old friends over for a party. (Either that or it would seem we’re running an escort service from our living room, although that might be a more lucrative venture than free homebrews.) These two girls are my husband’s most requested homebrews because they both have a smooth, mild, hoppy flavor with notes of honey, but with a slight bite. Much like their “Gilligan’s Island” character’s namesakes, Mary Ann is the beer next door and Ginger is her flavor-boosted bunk mate.
   
I am not jealous of Ginger or Mary Ann, I just don’t get a chance to interact with them very much once they’re bottled. I always hope for a girls’ night out with them, but it never seems to happen. They toddle off to a friend’s barbecue or a river trip or a vehicle workday with my husband in tow. This could be why I am so bitter about the sticky floor and malt splatters on the walls of our house. I understand the attraction, however, since I have managed to weasel a few swingtops from several batches. I have to drink what I can before company arrives, though — within ten minutes of a party starting, Ginger and Mary Ann have taken over the kitchen, and within an hour, their bottles are empty. They are always the life of the party.
   
I realize now that it’s been much longer than a three-hour beer tour and I will have to share my bedroom and kitchen with Mary Ann and Ginger indefinitely. But I must say that I am looking forward to sneaking some time in with them. I think I’ll take them out for a hike or a river trip, just us girls. I’m glad my husband introduced us — Ginger and Mary Ann make everything more bearable.