The other day at dinner, I spilled a glass of red wine. All over the table, and my chair, and the floor, and my black sweatpants.
We have ceramic tile floor in our home, which means that anything that spills on it will splash from here to Timbuktu.
Do you live in Timbuktu? I bet you got splashed with my wine spill.
The worst part was not that I had to clean it up before I even got to eat my own dinner, or even that the kids continued to eat their dinner while I got down on my hands and knees under the kitchen table to clean not only the spill itself, but the underside of everything, the walls, the windows, all the chairs, the table, and anything else that was splashed with red wine, or that they commented on how much wine that was in that glass that spilled, or even that my house immediately smelled like a frat house. It’s amazing how spilled wine smells kind of like spilled beer.
The worst part was that it was the LAST GLASS OF WINE.
And that, my friends, is the biggest sin of all.
I would never attempt to recreate the scene of the crime as evidence, because wasting wine is an unforgiveable sin. That I did.
So you will have to make do with this accurate reenactment instead:
|Don't judge me. I've suffered enough.|