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Bottle of wine

February 23, 2009 - Jennifer Brookens
After a rough week last week, I decided I was treating myself to a bottle of wine. A few weeks before, I attended a wine-tasing party at a friend's house and learned some of the basics: white wines tend to be more fruity and are best served chilled, reds are more dry and aged more, and Zinfindels are nice and sweet, but give awful hangovers (OK, I already knew that last one from college!)

Touching for a moment on the issue of the proposed new liquor store... Quitting time on Friday afternoon is a dangerous time at that liquor store corner. Almost got hit twice just circling trying to get in to the lot, and then there were several more near misses (both in AND out of the vehicle) on my wine expedition. There were two totalled cars by the fire/ambulance building, probably left over from the parking lot action of the last three-day weekend when people wanted adult beverages other than 3-2 beer or wine cooler/Kool-Aid combos.

Anyway, that subject aside, I find the type of wine that I loved at the tasting. Moscato, a sweet white "fizzy" wine, and luckily is not the same price as my grocery allotment. After some more mock bumper-car action getting out of the parking lot and sliding my way home, I quickly make dinner, thinking about having a glass of wine with my meal. Dinner is served, I pull out my hand-held corkscrew, plunge it in and tug.

And tug. AND TUG! Nothing. After five minutes of tugs, strains and pulls, I go begging to my husband. He gives it a try. Nothing. Fifteen minutes have passed. Kids have polished off their food and are now running around. And I STILL haven't gotten my wine!!! I'm getting desparate. I screwed the corkscrew as deep as it'll go, I unscrew it and make a new hole, I jabbed at the sides of the cork with my kitchen shears, making a gouge in the cork. At this point I'm almost ready to go the ghetto route and bust the neck of the bottle over the kitchen sink!

Half an hour later, I'm on the floor almost in tears, wrapping my legs around the base, my hands firmy strangling the neck of the bottle, and my husband pulls. Just as he says he thinks the corkscrew is going to give, out comes the cork!!! No spilled wine but the first glass I'm picking out remanents of cork.

And it was the sweetest wine I'd ever tasted. Nothing like working hard for something to appreciate it even more. I almost regretted finishing it off the next night. But only almost.


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