Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Light the Candles, Pour the Wine
I shared this quote on my personal Facebook page today. I almost shared it to the big page, but let's face it, "after thought" should have been one word and I'm pretty anal-retentive particular about stuff like that. It's important that stuff I post to the page not have typos and grammar mistakes and shenanigans like that all over the place. Anyway, I collect those inspirational af quotations. I click "like" over and over and comment things like “word to all of this” or “THIS FOREVER” or sometimes something like “Ain’t that a bitch?”
This particular quote is about not holding back, not caring what other people think, not limiting yourself or depriving yourself or censoring yourself, because ultimately, you’re going to be dead so who gives a fuck unless you enjoyed yourself? Yanno? And it always resonates with me, I always do that mental fist-pump, you know, f’yeah man, true story, I gotta remember that. And why don’t I? And why am I the kind of person that needs to be reminded, why aren’t I think kind of person that is ALREADY DOING THIS? Why am I not living my life like this already?
Because, basically, I suck. So much for inspiration.
My friend liked the photo, and posted a comment that made me smile. “Burn the good candles.” She is so right. Right now I am looking at a beautiful arrangement of candles and I don’t even have a way to light them. I’m going to have to twist up a paper towel and light that from the gas stove and then light each one of the candles with that like a fucking acolyte. Go ahead and google “acolyte” but I’ll save you the time and tell you it means the assistant candle-lighter at an Episcopalian worship service. Like so:
But I’m going to do it. Yasss, queen.
Because this whole thing reminds me of the last time I read something inspirational af like this. And I asked myself, “What are you waiting for with this 2003 Regusci Cab that is staring at you like, ‘Drink me ffs it’s too damn hot in your house and I would be great in another five years if cellared properly which is like the opposite of what you did so let’s go before it’s too late.’” And then I said to myself, “He’s right, you know,” which is a very odd thing to say when the antecedent of the pronoun is a bottle of wine.
The point is, what are we waiting for? When am I going to cook the meal or have the people over or stage the event that merits the serving of this fantastic bottle of wine? (Hint: Not bloody likely any time soon). And that shouldn’t matter anyway because who is going to appreciate this wine more than me? (Hint: no one). None of my friends know wine well enough to appreciate it except Bossman and I spend enough time with him each week already so, no.
So I pull the 2003 Regusci Cab from its place on the shelf and dust it off. Yes, I know I just moved six months ago, but dust is dust and it won’t be denied. I get the corkscrew (now people are going to yell at me about how I should be using some other contraption besides a corkscrew but honestly, just save it because I am in no mood to be lectured) and open it up. But the sad thing is that I waited too long to drink this wine and I didn’t store it properly because there was too much variation in temperature and moving it around a fair bit what with hiding it from my ex in several different places over the last couple of years. ANYWAY. The cork dried out and broke off in the middle of the bottle so I had to strain the wine through cheesecloth only I didn’t have cheesecloth so I tried a paper towel but that was an epic fail so I just poured it into a glass and tried to filter out the pieces of cork with my teeth but that didn’t really work either.
So the point of the story is drink your damn wine before nonsense like that happens. Because I’m dying a little inside to think of how I wrecked that wine by saving it for something special. #irony
HEY I’M SPECIAL, yanno? Just because I am. Special enough to drink the wine and light the candles and celebrate EVERY DAY.
(Also privately, I’m high-fiving myself with incredible relief that that scenario didn’t happen with Bossman standing there watching me fuck up one of his favorite wines. The end.)
Posted by Mina Klonopina at 9:59 PM