Mom came over for a visit last night.

Knowing Greg and the boys would be gone, I had a bottle of wine ready for us to share, thinking a little mother-daughter time would be a nice change from the ballgames and sweatbands. I loves those, too, but a girl has her limits.

Needless to say, we had some trouble with that bottle of red wine. Instead of sipping and going back for seconds, we spent the evening on the two adjacent couches, legs propped up, sharing turns on trying to OPEN the bottle with a corkscrew, but not having much luck.

She would give it a turn until she couldn’t take it anymore, then I would try, bruised wrist and all, huffing and puffing, and eventually realizing that a little vino just wasn’t going to happen. Not this night.

And then out of nowhere, pop! The cork came off, and you would have thought it was New Year’s Eve, but more like 5 hours after the ball dropped. A little too late. I think the idea had lust its luster by then, kinda like a penny that loses its shine.

Mom eventually announced that she had a headache and could really use some Tylenol instead, so I helped myself and sipped alone.

Hey, we tried.

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