A Better Day

Yesterday, I discovered that very little cannot be fixed by a glass or two of wine shared with a sympathetic family member. Last night, when I got home I was pretty drained. I felt jaded and used, frustrated wouldn't even begin to cover it.

My husband was supportive on the way back home in the car, but once we got home he was no longer sympathetic. As I told the story of my day to my mother, father, and brother, he rolled his eyes and mouthed words that I'm certain he was sure I couldn't see. It made me feel even worse to see him do that, even though he'd just been so sensitive and obliging on the drive home. I was dismayed, and I believe my actions displayed my dismay quite vividly. When I saw him mocking me, I stopped discussing my day and paid my attention solely to the plate of food before me (grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and freshly cut cucumber--quite delicious indeed! There are worse things to focus on, no doubt).

When my husband retired upstairs, my family was supportive. They asked me questions, to which I was somewhat monotone--due mostly to the fact that I was still trying rather hard to quell the tears that were rising in my eyes and at the back of my throat. It was nice to feel like someone did care about my day, though. After a trip to the bathroom, I resigned myself to the notion that I surely would not feel better unless I had a glass of wine. With the assurance that no one would hold it against me, I selected a bottle of Red Currant wine that my husband and I had purchased at Zehnder's in Frankenmuth, Michigan.

This particular wine is one of my favorite wines. I'm not, generally speaking, a big drinker. Now and again a friend persuades me to head to a bar with them where I may drink, but never really in excess. This wine, however, I am a big fan of. I'm certain that, were it readily available to me at a low cost, I would drink at least a glass of it every day. Even the very first sip made me feel better. Half a glass in, my day had slipped past me. I hadn't intended to drink more than a glass, but my father had mentioned that he, too, would indulge if I happened to be getting another. So I decided to go ahead. The simple act of sharing a bottle of wine with my father was very comforting.

Needless to say, today was a much better day. I had a good time in my history class. It's a class about the history of women in America, which appealed to me for many reasons. Our first unit happened to be regarding the Salem witch trials, a topic which pleases me greatly. (I have always been fascinated by witches. I have no idea why.) We discussed one case in which a woman was accused of having an extra "teat" (by that, of course, I mean nipple) which was thought to have been for the purpose of feeding fledgling demons. It is alleged that her third nipple disappeared within a mere three hours, which doubtlessly proved her a witch. Good to know, however, that demons only use the nipple for a short period and then it goes away. I certainly wouldn't want to live with a third nipple for longer than the time an impromptu feeding lasts.