Vindictive Royalty on Wine

I went up to my parents' house last night for dinner, while The Funasaurus was playing volleyball. My parents and I have a pretty good relationship, based not-entirely-but-at-least-partially on a mutual love of dry, red wine. Dinner was good, and I started to whine about a particular boss of mine, who shall now and forevermore be referred to as Herr My Way or the Highway. Die Herr MWOTH (is it just me, or wouldn't that name be perfect for a dark underlord in a B- fantasy novel? Herr MWOTH. Hmm. It totally fits. It's somewhere between "moth" and "mouth" and that's just disgusting. If you're writing a B- fantasy novel you can totally borrow that name. I don't mind.) has been Not Nice, recently, due to the fact that I called him out on a lie.

So I consumed probably a-little-more-than-my-fair-share of an excellent chardonnay, before proceeding on to one of those aforementioned nice, dry reds, which eventually made its goal of making me forget almost entirely about Herr MWOTH.

After dinner, I busted out a pair of pants I had brought along, to have my mom help hem them. Despite the fact that I supposedly own a sewing machine, I am not entirely sure that it really exists, since I've never seen it without the cover on it. But the cover is a nice blue-ish color. It looks good in our office. The dust gives it a nice rustic look.

Mom had me stand on a chest, while she pinned the pants. I was supremely unhelpful, all, "my wine glass is almost empty...! Hang on, must go refill!" and "What are you doing down there?" and "why am I so wobbly up here??"

Mom, very patiently, rotated between putting pins between her lips and putting sips of wine between her lips, not once mistaking one for the other, because she is organized like that. And also rather averse to pain.

Having helped me with that project, I was next expected to help her with hers.

And thus The Latest Scrapbook was busted out, in all its shredded-paper-and-glittery-sticker glory.

Wine, in its infinite gift of making everything better, made me open-minded, and we actually had a really good time. I had a blast playing with pointy objects and expensive paper while inebriated. Tiny items were cut out, I only amputated one ear in a picture (and I question whether that could even really be considered my fault. It blended in with the stadium's concrete color behind it. Speaking of, Uncle, maybe you should think about getting out in the sun a little more...) and discovered the glory of glue that is only glue when you want it to be glue. It's like magic. Plus, it comes in colorful cases. Does it get any better? That is a rhetorical question. The answer, is no, absolutely, it does not, that is as good as it gets.

Eventually we got so engrossed in our magic glue and handy cut-perfect-circle-y things that that sneaky wine wore off without us noticing. And then it was 10:30, and I had a 45 minute drive in front of me, and a tired and more-than-likely rather sweaty Funasaurus to cuddle with, waiting for me at home.

So I went home. Imagining that if maybe someday I find a picture of Herr MWOTH, I could amputate a little something of his....