The minute you step through the front door, you shed everything on you like a school kid coming in from the rain at recess. You throw on your PJs, you grab that bottle and a corkscrew and you settle in on the couch. As you twist that instrument deep into the cork, you are filled with sheer excitement that in a couple of seconds, wine will grace your tastebuds and all will be good with the world again.
You start to realize something is off as you start pulling out the cork. It's stiff and uncooperative. (Yes, I realize how dirty this description is getting, so I'll stop it here.) It's when you start hearing the cork tearing that you start realizing it is too late...the cork has split in two and you're stuck holding a useless corkscrew with half-decimated cork in one hand, and a still unopened bottle of wine in the other.
A small sigh is released, but you attempt at getting the other part of the cork out. Just like an Olympian stepping up to whatever event they are competing at, the brow is furrowed, the eyes are focused and the movement is calculated. Digging the corkscrew into the bottleneck again, there is now a deep concentration on making sure this time, you don't fuck it up. There's wine in jeopardy here.
But then, you suffer the same disappointment as a fourth place finisher, the cork now splits down the middle and there's no way of getting out that precious liquid. You're now crying on the inside because you're just too tired to go out and get more wine and you've lost a bottle of booze to a defective cork.
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| Look at all of these non-defective corks mocking you. |
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