A Liquid Breakfast

August 21, 2009

On one occasion, my husband and I looking for a larger apartment, had the pleasure of meeting with a perspective landlord. The Italian gentleman escorted us to first one apartment and then to another.
Great disappointment showed on his face when neither apartment met our needs. Nonetheless, insisting we meet his wife, he welcomed us into his home. Treating us with great respect and honour they insisted my husband try their home made wine. Unable to drink wine, my husband politely declined several times. Notwithstanding his refusals they insisted until finally out of desperation to help my husband I offered to try the wine on his behalf.

Momentarily, a huge water tumbler filled to the brim with potent red wine was presented to me. Not wishing to insult our hosts I sipped on the tasty brew. Time was running quickly by but the glass seemed to remain full. I began to panic. Guzzling a good few gulps I tried in vain to see the bottom of the glass. The faster I gulped the dizzier I became. Finally, unable to empty the glass I thanked our hosts for their hospitality.
“The wine is wonderful, very refreshing. Thank you” I said. Struggling vainly to keep my balance I sauntered to the front door. Nudging my husband I urgently hissed
“Hold my arm” With his strong hand supporting me I pulled on one heavy winter boots and then the next. Thankfully, I had managed the task without falling on my face. With a polite “Thank you”
I, quickly as could, made my escape.
At last safely seated in the car I relaxed. My head was spinning. My words were slightly altered. Gales of laughter seemed to explode from somewhere inside.
On our way home now, the possibility of seeing other apartments gone, we stopped at red light. Gerald noticed George, our church deacon standing at the curb waiting for a bus. We caught his attention and offered him a drive. Happily he squeezed in beside me.
Giggles spouted forth filling the air. I seemed to have absolutely no control over it. Turning sharply, George looked at me.
“Are you drunk?” he asked.
Checking his watch he verified it was only ten thirty a.m. “You are drunk.” he confirmed.
Every Sunday from there on in, for several months, he made a point of shaking my hand and unobtrusively smelling my breath. It took quite sometime to convince him the only problem I had was finding an apartment.



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