So, I don’t drink. That is, I don’t Don’t Drink, I just don’t drink. I don’t like the taste. Nothing sinister. I’m perfectly normal.
But today I required some red wine for a braised shin of beast, and being an independent go-getter I ventured into the Wine and Beer aisle to get some. Being, as I say, a non-drinker, I have perhaps a distorted and overly respectful view of the alcohol scene. I think of it in movie-like imagery, involving crystal-clear glasses and candlelight reflecting off the ruby-red liquor and a smoky jazz solo crooning in the background. And in my mind, a bottle of such wine would cost, say, $60 minimum. $120, easy. $200, no sweat. Well, it isn’t like that in the supermarket. The bottle I eventually procured from the “Reds” was $5.99. In its defense, it wasn’t the cheapest. It was the cheapest equal, and its copartner had a smeggier label. Ach well, I thought, it’s for cooking: as long as it doesn’t etch a hole in my Le Creuset we’ll be fine. (See, I don’t utterly lack taste. I use Le Creuset.)
So I got it home, only to find at the critical shin-of-beef-searing moment that we do not possess a corkscrew. Now, Helpdesk Man does drink - cider mostly, but the occasional schlp of whiskey when the pressures of helpdesking get too much. Curiously though, neither of these beverages apparently requires a corkscrew. And for some reason, he doesn’t own a Swiss Army Knife. What kind of man - ? Anyhoo. So after an abortive attempt to MacGyver a corkscrew out of sewing machine repair kit implements, Helpdesk Man trotted off to ask the neighbors for a corkscrew. And I stood in the kitchen, turning the shin of beast to prevent it scorching, and musing that we just don’t do Gracious Living as well as we ought.
They lent us one - but here’s the kicker. As the neighbor, whom we had never met before, handed the corkscrew over, he said reproachfully “I thought you guys were Christians“.
Another golden evangelism opportunity lost to the Demon Drink. The shin of beast is, however, delicious.