After the pre-Cinco de Mayo margaritas and cosmoritas that I didn't have my camera with me to record (but DAMN, they were cute), we came back to my apartment to chill. Because. We live in the same apartment building. So the hanging out together after dinner wasn't hard.
We drank wine.
And yeah, she made that necklace herself. Aren't you jealous? I am. Severely jealous. If I haven't made a similar necklace by Monday, I'll be... mad. And embarassed, because now I've told the internet of my intentions.
Then we painted our toes. Do you know which is me? And can't you tell that I should employ a full-time manicurist? Because I'm not that good.
And then the wine gods, and the Rabbit Wine Opener gods, worked against me. Seriously, not my fault. If you email me, I'll tell you the entire story why, but I know that the entire internet doesn't want to read the story. So email me, and I'll tell you why the cork is in the bottle.
Why do I want to end all my posts these days with the comment that I want to go to bed? I know you're tired of reading that comment. I know you sympathize. Why do I write it? As a consolation prize, I won't write it this time.
Ok, here's the story about the cork in the wine bottle...
You know the Rabbit style wine openers? I have one, I love it, it makes me an alcoholic. I actually posted about it back in the day. So, if you know how that works, this story is very easy.
It was the second bottle of wine (after margaritas at dinner) and somehow the rabbit didn't hold onto the neck of the bottle like it should (somehow = Marcia didn't have a firm grip on it) and slipped up. Something I'm sure messed up with the whole everything at this point, and I just regripped the neck of the bottle, and pulled hard on the other handle, and I heard a plop. Not a cork out of the bottle plop, but a cork pushed into the wine plop.
And I got pinot grigio everywhere.
I don't really understand it. But that's what happened.