Do you ever have those days when everything goes wrong? You miss an appointment, you put your foot in it, you’re clumsy, you break stuff, you run yourself ragged for everyone else, you really, really try . . . and still the world hates you? But not only does it hate you – it wants revenge?
Well I had that day today so here’s my attempt to do a Bridget Jones but if this day is anything to go by, even this blog post is likely to go gruesomely wrong but hey ho, never let it be said that I don’t try.
It was going from bad to worse so I decided to buy myself a bottle of wine – a crisp and clear Frascati no less, and wallow in a couple of glasses after the kids were tucked up, probably even watch a manically depressing film about the sheer futility of it all. I’ll be honest and admit that the thought of drinking the whole bottle crossed my mind more than twice.
So anyway, when the kids were tucked up and I was slowly de-stressing, I reached for the aforementioned beloved bottle and proceeded to open it. But I soon found that the day wasn’t done with me yet.
I could not get to my wine!
The cork was one of those rubbery things and I managed to get it half way out but the rest was jammed right in the bottle neck. I used every cork screw in the house, including the huge fancy thing that is supposed to make bottle-opening easy. I think they call it a rabbit screw . . . or something just as sexually innuendo’ish. But even that (ahem) didn’t do it for me.
Such was my
desperation determination not to let the thing get the better of me that I even tried getting the damned thing out with my teeth. But nope – the day continued to mock me.
Needs must!! I got a sharp knife (and if you tell my hubby that I’ve ruined his best chef’s knife I’ll never speak to you again!) and sliced the cork (and my finger!) in half and started again.
Lovely, lovely wine, albeit a lot warmer than it was when I first took it from the fridge. And lot’s of blood. Wine is a very good anesthetic.