There is a man in your town—maybe your neighbor, maybe the guy who waves at you while watering his lawn at 10:45 in the morning—who has decided that the rules of time no longer apply to him.
Dave believes the sun is over the yardarm somewhere, and that somewhere is his kitchen.
The "day drinker" is a time-honored American archetype, somewhere between a retiree with a boat and a guy who peaked in a fantasy football league.
He will tell you it's "basically happy hour in London," which is a lie, but a confident one.
He has a drinking schedule, and the schedule says noon, and it is 11:52, so really, what's eight minutes between friends.
Experts—meaning his buddy Gary, who read a WebMD article once—say moderation is key.
Dave's version of moderation is switching from light beer to seltzer at 3 p.m. so he can "pace himself." He has never once paced himself.
He has, however, gotten very good at grilling.
The day drinker's natural habitat is the backyard, the golf course, or any establishment with a patio and a sign that says "No shirt, no shoes, no problem." He thrives on brunch menus, bottomless mimosas, and the collective delusion that drinking before 5 p.m. is a personality trait rather than a cry for a hobby.
Karen's thoughts are mostly "it's Tuesday." Dave's counterargument is that Tuesday is basically a small Friday, which is a sentence that has never held up under scrutiny.
Karen now schedules his yard work for 9 a.m. sharp, a tactical move that experts are calling "genius" and Dave is calling "a buzzkill." Social media has not helped.
Dave discovered the phrase "it's 5 o'clock somewhere" in 2009 and has been riding that wave like it's a religion.
He posts photos of his Bloody Mary with the caption "self-care," which is technically true in the same way that a nap in a running car is technically rest.
Day drinkers develop a swagger that convinces them they can still operate a lawnmower, a group chat, and a marriage simultaneously.
Dave has run over a garden hose three times this summer and texted his ex twice, though he maintains the second one was "a pocket dial." So the next time you see a man cracking a cold one at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday, don't judge.
Just know that he's about four hours away from a nap, a sunburn, and a sincere promise to "take it easy tomorrow." Tomorrow, of course, starts at 11 a.m.
The day drinker isn't a cautionary tale so much as a slow-motion one.
He's not hurting anyone, probably, and he does make excellent burgers.
Final Thoughts
But if you're considering joining him, remember: the patio is a slippery slope, and someone still has to drive to the store for more ice.