It looks like Thursday nights this quarter are going to be Family Dinner/The Office nights. I piggyback Sjanneke's cool (wholesome) teacher-friends and try to rein in my religious-themed swears, which, tragically, are my favorite family of swears.
I brought a bottle of wine, but forgot my wine key. The hostess, Christina, didn't have one, as single ladies in interim living situations often have conspicuous gaps in their housewares inventory. Back at my old apartment, I drank wine out of thrift store mugs until Ana bought me a set of wine glasses for my birthday one year. Determined to have a glass of cheap red wine to conclude my first week back at school, Katie and I knocked on a neighbor's door right as he was heading out into the cold, his face all Kenny-ed shut with hoods and scarves and armed with a case of Rolling Rock. He invited us in and returned from the kitchen, extending a silver wine key toward us. It was all I could do not to break out into "I've got a golden tiiiick-et!".
Then something weird happened. Despite having opened scores of wine bottles both professionally and in my personal life, I temporarily forgot how to. Ignoring the little leveraging widget, I was trying with all my shrimpy bicep power to uncork the thing, going red in the face and feeling defeated. Everyone else, taking my word that the bottle was unopenable without really paying attention to my, uh, technique, gathered to help. At one point, I was standing on a chair, trying to get the cork to budge, while no less than three people kneeled on the floor, gripping the stubborn bottle on the table.
Finally, Katie raised an eyebrow and cracked the case of the unopenable two buck chuck. "Aren't you supposed to use this thing?"
So that's where all this fancy book-learnin' has landed me.
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