My husband is an avid beer drinker, but once he switches over to the dark side of wine, he becomes a different person. Just like a woman with raging hormones in the throes of menopause, his mood can change drastically. I never know which alter ego of his I will be dealing with—McBastard, Cuddle Bear, Sleepy from the Seven Dwarfs or a Teletubbie. These personalities don’t kick in until he has uncorked his second bottle of red wine. He could paint the house, wax the car or install new plumbing and not remember a thing in the morning. Sometimes he morphs into Jimmy Hendrix and plays air guitar to Purple Haze, while other nights he dons a cat mask and dances to the Meow Mix theme. I don’t worry too much about his alter egos as long as he’s not scratching in a litter box, marking his territory or trying to lick my ankles.
The Hubs claims that devil juice alters my personality as well. He says that I change from lamb to lion to human gummy bear after a few glasses of vino, which has convinced me to buy cheaper wine and dilute it with ice water. Gross, I know, but we can’t have two comatose adults in the backyard.
Years ago we owned a gift basket shop and were fortunate enough to come across case loads of good quality champagne at a discount price from a local wine dealer. Most of the bottles ended up in our kitchen cabinets instead of in the baskets they were intended for. A close friend of ours who bought several cases called it forget-me-not champagne, because she woke each morning after drinking it not remembering what she did the night before.
We have plenty of wine that could sport the same forget-me-not label. Wine comas rob you of chunks of time you can never get back, until one day you find yourself crawling around on all fours in a video on YouTube.
After enough glasses of devil juice, my husband is convinced he’s the next Iron Chef. He fixes weird sandwiches like bologna with garlic croutons or peanut butter, jelly and roasted turkey, then tries to get everyone else to eat his creations. Guy Fieri he is not. Vino turns me into Paula Dean—I want to slather butter on everything. Some of my tastiest concoctions were created after a few glasses of devil juice—problem is I consumed major calories and I don’t remember what I ate, only that it was more difficult to zip up my jeans the next day.
You would think two middle age adults would not want to lose track of precious time by blurring their weekends with devil juice. There’s just something not right about a man in a cat mask drinking wine.
Next weekend, he’s changing his own litter box.
Ah, the magic of the vino. I have been known to finish off an entire bottle of the devil juice. I become very possessive of my bottle. My Love just falls asleep, which is great because I don’t have to fight him over the deliciousness.
I’m with you there, sista!
Oh, this is wonderful! I laughed all the way through. Can I have some of that bad juice, too?
Come on over—-the bottle is chilling for you!
Lucky for me, my hubby doesn’t like red wine and I don’t like white wine, so we never fight over the grape. And he’s a very VERY mellow fellow when he’s had a few.
I’d rather have mellow I think, than a man sporting a cat mask….
Ha! That terrible moment when you don’t remember fixing the porch. Luv it.
You fix things after a few drinks? Hey, I have a patio that needs some stones leveled. If I bribe you with some devil juice, will you repair them for me??
I’ve decided to buy the house next door to you guys. I’ll be the Gladys Kravitz in the window . . .
Not if I get there first! 😉
I’m saving you a chair in the garden too, Kathy!
And I shall invite Gladys over for many, MANY glasses of vino in my backyard garden!
You had me at Devil Juice!
Another wine lover, eh? You need to come hang out with me in the backyard garden some time!
Hahaha. You two are hilarious! I want to spend a weekend with you guys.
Around here, drinking the devil’s juice usually results in hilarious conversations, very off-key singing, air guitar and a wicked case of the munchies.
Ohhhhh maybe I should pay YOU a visit!! I’ll bring the vino. Deal?