The problem was the math on drinking had quietly stopped working for us. The fun was real. Two drinks in, we were the best versions of ourselves in the room. It was the next day that sent the invoice, and the invoice kept getting bigger.

For Ronan it was simple. Two genuinely fun drinks, and the next morning his patience for his kids was gone. Shorter fuse, grumpier dad. The good night was costing him a good tomorrow, and his kids were the ones paying for it. So he stopped. The rest of us did too, each for our own version of the same reason. (Except Miloš. He's too young to have hit that point. Keep up the good work, Miloš.)

But we didn't want less fun. We wanted less of the cost. The looseness, the spark of a night that actually goes somewhere, without waking up with someone we'd have to apologize to.

Nobody was making something for that. People said it couldn't be done, at least legally.

But "no" has never been a stop sign for us. It's a starting gun. Tell us a mischief-making drink with nothing to apologize for can't exist, and you've all but guaranteed we're going to make it. It's a bad habit of ours.

So we did some self-experimentation, made it good, handed a batch to our friends, and saw the same look every time. Oh. This is the one I've been waiting for.

That's the moment a personal fix became a company.