Where Wine Comes To Die

That would be my house.

Yes, I am admitting it. Wine comes to my house to die. I’m realizing there are a a few problems. A- I don’t have a great place to store it and B- I can’t drink it alone or fast enough.

There have been a few casualities, I’m sad to say. I started buying wine several years ago and collecting it a bottle at a time. The best bottle I bought was a 2000 Sassicaia that I bought when I worked for Cesare Mammarella at Tic Toc Room. He’s going to kill me if he reads this, but it was $200+. When I moved back in with my parents (joys of divorce) my Dad flipped out over how much wine I had and put it at the top of the pantry.

Later, I went to take it to then boyfriend’s house to have with whatever meal we had created and IT HAD GONE BAD. I could have bought a Tibi dress for that amount of money. The only thing to do was drink another bottle as quickly as possible and forget about it. I can’t believe I’m even putting it in print. That was when I realized- Dad’s fit of overly anal OCD about my wine bottles of wine had killed them. The Sassicaia wasn’t the only casualty. Also some bottles of Cakebread. OH THE HUMANITY.

I really wasn’t even going to acknowledge it until I realized I had done it again, sort of. I bought a bottle of Coppola Claret- Black Label. Damn fine bottle of wine and not terribly expensive.

It’s been a few weeks, maybe just two since I opened it. And again, all I can drink at a time is one maybe two glasses. And the next day I had one more. But that’s it. No more.

It’s not like its a bad bottle either. But, my dad doesn’t drink wine. Mom, I mean damn she will but I don’t know why she hadn’t touched it. Should have cooked some meat and marinated it in the wine. I kind of kept thinking I would but jeez I’m just worn out sometimes.

I had been looking at this bottle of wine every time I went in the pantry. It was like it haunted me: ” You opened me, and you didn’t even get halfway through.” Shameful. Abusive.

Then tonight I went to get a bowl of cereal, I put the box up and I swear to yall it was a good full five minutes later before BAM. The bottle of wine had fallen. I really think it jumped and just committed suicide- like, “how dare you come in here ONE MORE TIME and not even acknowledge my presence, I am withering away, you killed another one.” Then to add insult to injury, I had to clean up the spilled wine from the floor. Taunting me ” haha b****- you didn’t drink me now you HAVE to deal with me- have fun”. Awesome.

So, no more wine I guess unless I am out or having people over or taking it to a friends house. My name is Molly Wilkins, and I cannot drink a bottle of wine alone. Wine comes to die at my house.

Love to all yall….

Molly