I recently discovered that chilled Moscato is a welcome addition to my evening madness. It soothes the savage beast, and doesn’t hurt the mood but often rather improves it. Well, it would be if I could locate the wine.
The new nail place I’ve found to get my mani pedi’s serves drinks while they whittle and you wile away an hour or two. I think they do a fine job but after three or four glasses of wine, my judgement could be clouded.
I like the Moscato they serve so much I purchased two bottles to help my mood while I wile away time at home. I brought it home and put it in the refrigerator awaiting a change in moods.
It happened a couple of weeks ago. I searched high and low for the wine but could locate only one bottle. Fine. This certainly wasn’t a two bottle mood, or so I hoped. I uncorked the bottle and felt better within my two glass limit and soon forgot about the missing bottle of Moscato, chalking it up to a clouded brain and a malfunctioning refrigerator.
In the following three week period the refrigerator had to undergo two attempted shelfectomies, and one successful shelf transplant. Two of them required overnight displacement of the refrigerator. The final transplant required two days, one inept attempt with two technician impersonators and one real one. Finally the refrigerator was returned to its rightful place in the kitchen and life resumed. Throughout the operations not one missing bottle of wine was located, but then again, neither were cirrhosis of the refrigerator liver, nor ulcers of the drawers.
That was two weeks and many days filled with laughter ago. Enter yesterday. It began as most weekends which are filled with laughter, plans of accomplishing many things, and domestic chores too many. Enter annoyances, loud angry voices, and a missing helper. The mood was still at a two bottle level and the ne infected with the mood took to her bed until called to a steak dinner that she didn’t have to prepare.
The bad mood possessor had spent the afternoon dreaming of running away to the closest beach bar and a cold margarita. She decided to settle for Mosacto, or what was left of the aforementioned bottle.
The bad mood person wandered to the refrigerator, opened the wine drawer, and laid her eyes upon the partial bottle of Mosacto and a full bottle of wine. No one can be sure where the missing bottle had spent the past month, if it was indeed full of Moscator, or who or what might be responsible for its return. Only the refrigerator knows, but the bad mood possessor and her
family are thankful for its return.
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