Drinking on the porch

I've lived in a house with a porch for five years now. My first was a rental, and the porch shared with my landlady, which really put a damper on what I've come to realize is the single reason for the invention of the porch: drinking. Specifically, it's the ideal location for getting hammered with your closest friends during three of the four seasons. It's a good place to drink responsibly, too, say a beer or so with the husband after a day of work. But the porch's true architectural contribution is as a shelter from the elements during a drinking binge. I sunburn easily, and that's always gotten in the way of a good summer's drunk. No longer! Now that I own my home, I'm free to enjoy the porch without judgment from a landlady. Free to crack a bottle of wine and drink most (OK, all) of it while reading a book. Free to host a bbq that starts at 6, ends at midnight, and features a tub of cheap beer being emptied and then refilled by a stream of guests. My porch is so magical, it's the site of the only honest adult conversation I've had with my mother. Then we went into the living room and stopped talking -- frankly, that came as a bit of a relief -- but for 90 boozy minutes on the porch, I got to know her a little bitter. Better! Oopsy!