red whine

I am neurotic. Hugely. Massively. Potentially paralytically. It affects everything I do.

I'm sure it's behind my completely embedded fear of expiration dates and, in turn, quasi expiration dates - meaning there is no time that the food/drink/service/whatever ACTUALLY goes bad, but I mentally impose such a date. This is particularly true for red wine. I will only drink red wine from a previously opened bottle if (1) no more than a day has passed since it's uncorking, or (2) it's a screwcap wine, in which case 2 days may be acceptable.

However, if my 34 years have taught me anything, it is that desperation makes circumstances that may otherwise seem untenable, completely O-KAY.

For instance, given the three empty red wine bottles on my counter (and NO they are not all from TODAY), I am currently drinking wine from a wine bottle that was opened approximately ONE WEEK AGO. I know. You're all, "shut up," and I'm all, "I know, it's true, I can almost convince myself that it doesn't taste like vinegar, just so I can continue my soothing buzz through bedtime..." I love bedtime, but right now I love wine more.

Speaking of bedtime, I need to remind myself (pause for entering this reminder into my blackberry) to educate my son on the principle of NOT going to bed mad at someone. He's totally mad at me. You see, my son has inherited all of my neuroses and insecurity issues. He is over-sensitive and completely dramatic and there's little I can do about it, except be proactive. I was not proactive this evening. Instead, I hurt his feelings, apparently, when I giggled when he told me to "duh-lete" a picture I snapped of him because, DUH, it was embarrassing. I love it when he says "duh-lete." It's SO DAMN FUNNY. He, on the other hand, is not such a fan of me repeating it. It is the WORST thing in the world. I'm a terrible mother. Needless to say, he is in bed pouting (I tried to apologize, but was shot down almost immediately), so I've nestled into the couch where I'm feverishly typing into my blackberry because I'm too fucking lazy to move over to the office and write this on my actual computer.

In any event, I am enjoying, in the 15 minutes or so I have before I physically stop functioning for the night, 1/4 glass of wine that ALMOST does not taste like vinegar. Except it does. It does taste like vinegar and each little sip tickles my gag reflex. Yet, I can't stop. This may be a sign of a problem. Oh hell, who am I kidding, of course it's a problem. But I embrace it. I embrace my vinegar wine and lift my glass in a toast to you all, "cheers."