I found a fabulous-sounding pasta recipe on epicurious.com which called for a cup of dry red wine. We generally don't keep wine or liquor in the house, so I went to the grocery store. I had to pick up a few other things anyway.
Today I discovered that grocery stores in Arkansas don't sell wine. Beer, yes. Not wine. Okay, I can deal with that.
After purchasing the other items, I went down the street to a liquor store. I haven't been in a liquor store in years. I had forgotten how overwhelming they are with row after row after rack after rack of wine. I ventured only a few steps into the store, picked up one or two bottles off an endcap display, but decided they were too pricey for what I had in mind. So I turned to the young man behind the counter.
"I don't drink." He gives me a look that says Why are you here, then? He's handsome, so I forgive him. "I need a dry red wine for a recipe. It has to be something my husband won't turn up his nose at because he'll end up drinking the rest of the bottle. And I don't want to spend a fortune."
"Ah," says he. He is very handsome. And young. And hunky. "I have just the thing." Off he goes to the back of the store. I follow his handsome young hunky backside down the aisle. He picks up a Central Coast cab priced at $8.00 and hands it to me. "Very drinkable. I'm sure your husband will like it." Husband. Oh yeah.
"Great," says I. Purchase made, mission accomplished, back home I go. 'Bye bye, handsome young hunky liquor store guy.
I put the groceries away and begin the search for the corkscrew. After digging through the drawers a bit, I find the corkscrew. Remove the metal protective label, insert tip of corkscrew, turn, turn, turn, pull! Umm, pull! Crud. Lower the bottle and hold against my body for more leverage and pull! I said, pull! Crud again. Put bottle between knees, lean back against counter and pull! Pull! Crudsickles. Stupid cork. It won't budge. I'm afraid if it will break if I apply any more inexpert opening maneuvers on the blasted thing. I guess I won't have a fabulous pasta dish waiting for spouse when he gets home. He'll have to be home and uncork the silly wine before I can cook.
Way back when I was a drunk, this was why I bought wine in screw-top bottles.