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Charlie Hatton
Watertown, MA
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So, the wife sent me for a bottle of wine tonight. Some sort of last-minute Christmas present, or some such thing. I dunno -- I don't ask questions.
So there I go, for just a bottle of wine. Those are the instructions. Slip in, grab a nice bottle to give away, and come straight home.
Yeah. Right. I'm gonna go in there, and come out with just a bottle of wine. For someone else. Who you think you're dealing with here? That's crazy talk.
See, because me in a liquor store is like a kid in... well, in a liquor store, pretty much. I mean, honestly, I get all googly-eyed and slack-jawed in those places over the same stuff I drooled over at nineteen -- the frosty cases of beer... row after titillating row of exotic booze... posters of the Bud girls... oh, yeah. That's the shit, people.
Of course, I also found that there's a corollary to the old saw that you should 'never go to the grocery store on an empty stomach'. And I had just finished up a long day at work, spent hours and hours in meetings, and faced a long airline flight tomorrow and a week spent with teetotalling family and wild crazy in-laws. I was thirsty, people. And not for a juice box, dammit.
So, I was in wonderland there in the booze shoppe. I skipped around the aisles, pulling out wine bottles and leapfrogging over cases of beer. I did the 'Tequila' dance in the hard liquor section. I played 'Sit 'n' Spin' on kegs of lager. I frenched St. Pauli girl in the walk-in freezer.
(Well, okay -- a bottle of St. Pauli girl. I forgot how frigging cold it is in those freezers. My tongue barely thawed off the damned thing before I left -- I almost had to buy the bottle. Sticky little bitch, that Pauli.)
Anyway, in the end, I walked out with that bottle of wine I went for. Plus a backup bottle, in case my wife vetoed the first one. And a six-pack of beer, for dinner tonight, and maybe tomorrow afternoon. Plus, a bottle of champagne -- hey, it's Christmas, goddammit. I'm just getting my holiday spirit freak on; don't judge me, man. 'Tis the fucking season, and all that shit.
So, it all worked out. The wine passed muster, we'll open the bubbly soon, and I'm halfway through the six-pack already. It's turning out to be a good night, no matter what the next week may bring. So I've got that going for me.
And hopefully, you'll hear from me again before next Thursday, when I make it back here to civilization. If not, then have a happy WhateverTheHellYouCelebrate, and I'll catch up with you soon. But not soon enough -- believe me. Smell you later, folks. Don't miss me, now.
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Have a great holiday and good luck with that aunt of yours!
Lois Lane