So, you know how it is. It's Friday night and you've been invited to Friends for dinner. Along with flowers, you tote in a bottle or three of vino, as every good guest should. The evening starts and you enjoy the carafe of white with the apps and light conversation, then move on to the juicy red which partners the main course with slightly more personal chit-chat, and finally, the Portuguese port finishes things off along side mocha pie and a few fart jokes. (Things are getting good.) I can handle ALL of that, no prob.
But when the generous Friends break out a couple of their own vintages, steadily increasing the bottle count in tomorrow's recycle bin, things go a bit south.
Oh- oh.
We make it halfway through bottle number five when it hits me that water would be a good substitute for the yummy petite sirah floating in my goblet. But we all know I could have water ANYWHERE, and Friends have serious grape-juice that you can't just scoop up at Safeway. I'm talking dusty-ass bottle with a 1976 on the label. Yep, straight up. I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid, so I gladly accept the refill. Then another one. And another.
Then something funny happens. It seems my mouth will no longer form the words that I'm intending. Weird. I hear talk, unusual talk. I look around the table to see who the hell is speaking in that slushy foreign language and realize it's mwah. HUH?? When did I learn Russian? Before I can complete this quandary, my left eyelid decides it's tired and done for the night. Then a pool of drool threatens to escape my now slouchy pie-hole. WHAT THE?? Holy Shiraz! I must be having a wine-stroke! The shock dries up my mouth (just in time) and awakens my sleepy eye. I must regain composure immediately! I take another swig to moisten my lips. But I shouldn't have done that. I'm now waaaay over the edge and my stroke has embarrassingly turned into full-blown Tourette's. F-bombs are exploding everywhere and once again I am surprised by my own noise, surprised to see that I am the culprit in this spurt of sailor-talk. I can't stop it. I. Can't. Stop. It. This lasts a good five minutes before I run out of breath and get thirsty. But do you think I asked for some water? Nope. You know what I did. Fill 'er up, MotherFu****! Oh Dear.
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