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Don’t let Marilyn Burge fool you. She may be the seemingly delightful owner of 1747 Pub at Reynold’s Tavern, as well as the driving force behind their wonderfully-curated draft selection… but she is also a diabolical mastermind who isn’t above psychological warfare. 

Case in point: This past Sunday, I hosted what I expected to be a low-turnout, impromptu happy hour at 1747, only to be surprised with an awesome group of people showing up. 

One of those guests was Bob. Bob and his wife, Pat, blew my mind with their generosity by giving me three cans of Heady Topper from the Alchemist. (This beer is kind of a big deal, in case you didn’t know.) After awkwardly jumping up and down and hugging both Bob and Pat — because I am forever the unsolicited hugger of your worst nightmares — I passed the savings onto those in attendance by giving away two of the three cans as prizes for my usual round of happy hour trivia. 

And yes. It did hurt to be so awesome and thoughtful. I didn’t want to share any of them. 

Then tragedy struck. I somehow left my remaining can at the bar after the party. (By “somehow,” I mean I’m a total scatterbrain, so it was in no way surprising.) As soon as I realized my horrifying oversight, I called over to 1747. I was assured during my conversation it would be safe until I was able to retrieve it.

THIS WAS NOT TRUE.

The photos above — or should I say declarations of emotional warfare — were sent to me via text message from Marilyn, the Ice Queen of Darkness herself, after I had called. The first one, sent that evening, had the message of “DELICIOUS!!!!” The second, sent the next morning, “BREAKFAST!!!” It was 24 hours of terror and crying before I was able to retrieve my beloved Heady Topper.

You see, Annapolis. This is what makes Marilyn so… evil. My beer was safe the whole time — she was just blatantly flaunting her power. My beer only survived thanks to her “mercy.”

I’m watching you, Marilyn. I know your ways now. Consider the gauntlet thrown. And to the rest of you, guard your possessions and your heart. Marilyn is lurking, waiting… plotting.

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