I’ve been drinking through the wedding wine.
This is what isolation does. Forces you to realize that making one of your *favorite* wines one of the *official* wedding wines, and then being *super* proactive and stocking up on said wine was *maybe* not the best decision. But how was I to know we were all going to be thrown into some weird parallel version of reality this year? I plan for normal years, not ones that feel like someone started a Jumanji game.
Still. I need to cut back on this wine drinking. This is for my GUESTS who I will be INVITING should the world CONTINUE to turn in the normal, un-Twilight-Zone fashion that we’ve suddenly found ourselves in. But who knows what’s going to happen by the end of this year? This country could have a completely different social and economic face by November, and I, a super planner (except when it comes to writing. Crazy, right?!) have no way of planning for that. Hence all the drinking.
Batman has already scolded me many times. It’s nice to know I can throw heart disease and antioxidants at him as actual defenses. I need the wine to keep my heart healthy and keep my youth—two things he’ll need if his laundry service continues. And I mean, he’s not *really* scolding me. He’s more like, “Babe—we bought that for the wedding. What’re you doing?” (I think the word is catch. He’s catching me drinking, which just means I need to be more stealthy about it. Note to self – learn to be stealthy)
But then I give him the spiel about my genetics and youth and it’s okay again and until he sees me dive into the next mini bottle. Except now, he really can’t give me any grief because of this:
It looked way worse but Batman was trying to cover his tracks
Not sure if you can see it, but I’ve got a busted lip. No—he didn’t hit me. OBVIOUSLY. Batman has only hurt me one time, and that was when his dumb butt broke up with me back in college (worse mistake of his life). No, we were watching movie clips on my phone and doing it the smartest way possible: laying on our backs and holding the phone up above our heads. You know, testing gravity. And then he laughed at something Matt Damon said and he lost his grip on my Android and it CRASHED LANDED ON MY LIP.
Blood instantly.
Lots, and lots of blood.
Oh, yeah. I’ve got another one in my back pocket now. Like that that time I tickled him and on reflex, he kneed me in the head. Or the time he dropped his printer on my foot and checked the printer first to see if it broke. Oh yeah. Phone-bleeding-lip will now be a story I can use to get me out of things. Like…oh…I don’t know…busting open another bottle of wedding wine whilst in isolation? I need the swelling to go down, guys. I’m getting married in seven months.
Unless 2020 takes us in a new direction with zombies or vampires or techno-advanced super-genius yetis looking for retribution. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.
