While I still love my beer cozy; carry it with me and lament its absence when it’s not around; I’m beginning to be a little ashamed of our relationship. It’s become my drinking teddy bear. It’s battered and dirty and sure, I can still drink without it, but it’s not the same. When I don’t have my cozy, I whine. My friends are like my parents, suggesting alternatives. “It’s OK. Here, just wrap a napkin around your beer.” “No! It’s not the same.” And I think I’m getting too old to carry it around. A collapsible beer cozy in your purse is cute at 27; less at 32.