Tragedy
And so it happens.
That point in time when some things simply have unhappy endings. Tragedy, they call it.
We take for instance the kismet of some guy found by doctors to have developed a fatty liver. It must be a little hard for him to take that his beer-drinking days are conclusively over.
But as the Witch of Portobello points out, if there is any possible consolation in the tragedy of losing [something valuable], it’s the necessary hope that perhaps it was for the best.
Besides, when a door closes, a window opens. The beer-drinking days may finally be gone, but the beer-blogging days are just off to a flying start.
