Bavaria, Land of Drunk Babies

My father lives in a rural part of Bavaria, surrounded by farmland. The air is rich with the smell of cows and manure, and traffic jams are caused by tractors. Should you think I am being hyperbolic on that last point:

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THERE IS FARM EQUIPMENT IN BOTH LANES. It’s basically Kansas, people.

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After France, we went to visit him. My brother, sister-in-law, and wee nephew joined us. There’s nothing within walking distance of my dad’s place, except for a small Greek restaurant, so we went there and ate pizza and kabobs outside.

Summer in Bavaria = jeans and fleeces

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The little one wanted to try everyone’s drinks. First, there was fizzy water.

He’s totally game.

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His reaction:

“DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN WHAT ARE YOU BASTARDS FEEDING ME?” said the baby.

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Then there was beer. Before you start lecturing me over the negative effects of giving beer to children, let me state a few things:

1. This is Europe. Even the juice boxes have alcohol in them. 
2. My brother and I grew up having sips of beer or wine now and then, and we turned out just fine except for the fact that we’re both jobless and also, I had a brain tumor.
3. There is no point three.
4. Mind ya business.

Here’s the wee on taking a sip of what might be booze (#plausibledeniability):

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Aaaand his reaction:

“Hey, that’s kinda nice. Was it that, an IPA?”

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And this …

“Dude, I’m pretty sure that’s mine.”

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Later, he passed out on his mother. He’s a sloppy drunk.*

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*He also, apparently, peed his pants.