Thursday, August 5, 2010

On wine and elevators

The scene: The elevator, 8 a.m. yesterday. I am looking sharp, as usual (jeans, v-neck tee, flip-flops), while two dudes in expensive suits chat it up.

Suit #1: You're running late, huh? Aren't you usually in around 5:30?

Me: [immediately cringe at this unholy concept]

Suit #2: Yeah, I got a slow start this morning. I stayed up too late out on the deck finishing a bottle of wine. Shouldn't have done it.

Me: Sir, that is FALSE. You should ALWAYS finish the bottle of wine. Always.

(OK, so I didn't actually say that, but I was thinking it VERY LOUDLY.)

After all, what is life if you can't finish the bottle of wine? And I mean that both literally and figuratively.

It's not something you should do every night, of course, but I imagine this guy has a pretty nice deck. I know for a fact that the night was still and beautiful. I can't guarantee that there were stars, but maybe he has some white lights wrapped around the bannister that twinkle just as brightly. Perhaps he and his wife were sipping quietly, holding hands and trying to remember the last time they were able to sit together like this (they couldn't). And they probably stumbled to bed a bit drunk that night, bellies warm and full of wine, heads light and buzzing with nostalgia and love and summer.

Maybe his night wasn't like that at all, but maybe it was.

I think you should always finish the bottle of wine.

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