Or perhaps that only happens when I knock over an empty wine glass, it careens off the table, flies through the air in semi-slow motion, hits the ceramic tile floor, then shatters into millions of shards of clear glass all over, scattering in tiny slivers all over the kitchen and to every corner of the cabinetry.
I decide that I am too much of a danger to myself, even as sober as I am, so I retrieve a plastic imitation Dixie-brand miniature bathroom cup, and I drink my wine from that. I thought I had plastic wine glasses, but I honestly do not know where they hell they went.
I need a packy run before tomorrow's lacrosse game, so I head out in search of small bottles of wine. That will suffice; no beer for me. (Okay, some beer, but not a lot. Okay, a lot, but not so much that I cannot function behind the wheel after I've weened myself off the wine.) I vacillate between two brands of the mini-bottles for my cooler.
Who am I fooling? I buy the plastic ones. The last thing I need to do is start breaking bottles on top of breaking a glass. As a matter of fact, I buy some plastic cups to have, too. If I'm going to go all safety-glass, I might as well go big or go home ... home, where there are still shards of glass hiding in the nooks and crannies of the ceramic tile and cabinetry.
I'd better put out my slippers so I don't accidentally get slivers of glass in my feet tonight when I wander to the bathroom in the dead of night. That's how wine is bad for my health. Wine to me is like the fly to the old lady --
There was an old lady who broke a wine glass.
I don't know why she broke a wine glass.
She's such an ass.
There was an old lady who bought plastic wine.
She bought plastic wine to fill the wine glass;
I don't know why she broke the wine glass.
She's such an ass... (etc.)
This is why wine is bad for me and might cause me to bleed out.
