If the question “Care for a frosty beverage before you fuck my wife?” ever crosses a straight man’s lips, odds are, the guy on the listening end is country fox Tim McGraw (or possibly his foxette wife, Faith Hill). The man’s got something for everyone. He’s hot enough to scorch retinas, but he ain’t above using a tractor key to pick sparerib leavings out of his teeth. Add domestic bliss to the mix, and he’s a record exec’s wet dream. Which is not to slight his talent. Nothing’s better than listening to the sweet, sweet twang of Tim McGraw singing about buffalo briefs, barbecue stains on his white T-shirt, Farmer Johnson’s daughters, or whatever the hell else he happens to feel like singing about. Nothing, except … care for a frosty beverage, Mr. McGraw?