I Want To Age Like Fine Wine, Be More Valued By The Year
Robert Louis Stevenson once said wine is bottled poetry, but I don’t know. I’m getting drunk on words.
I’m packing up my house when I find it tucked in a corner of the basement. An aged bottle of Moet & Chandon Dom Perignon.
Bottled when I was a little girl climbing trees, sticks, and leaves in my hair. Bought it years later to save for a one-day anniversary that would never happen but we didn’t know yet. Couple of dumb kids getting married.
We watched this Indiana Jones movie once. I’m bad at titles, but here’s what I remember. Guy grabs a chalice, drinks, and falls over dead. The decrepit old guardian of the grail chuffs softly, shakes his head. Says he chose poorly. Me, I didn’t drink the wine, didn’t die. Just chose poorly.
Lesson number one for women with a mind of their own. Don’t stay with no man who thinks if your opinions don’t echo his every day of the week, you’re some kind of troublemaker picking fights. “Honey, I disagree” shouldn’t be fighting words, divorcing words, but they can be.
Lawyers got the house so I change the locks, divide the belongings, cry the tears, throw what’s left in cardboard boxes. That’s when I find it. Bottle of bubbly from once upon a time…
