At home, I couldn’t decide whether to turn on the TV first or open the pate first. As a comprise I settled for uncorking the bottle of red from the wine cooler.
I put the screwdriver in, twisted it the usual way, gave it a little nudge. No dice. I tried circling it a little, probably the last thing you want to do to a cork… then remembered how it’s not in a girls’ job description to open bottles… then with a snap, my bottle opener separated into two parts, leaving the cork still intact and with a sharp metal pin sticking out.
Girls are relentless, especially if there’s wine involved, right? So I head to the garage and find a pair of pliers. Still no dice. I stick the bottle between my legs and pull harder, as if extracting a hippo from the pool. No dice. Then the cork snaps in two.
But at this point, I’m unstoppable. Somewhere close to the pliers I discover its distant cousin – a screwdriver. With determination worthy of a different application, I stab what’s left of the cork, as if stabbing a vampire about to stick its fangs into my neck.
The cork pops, sending a fountain of red liquid all over my jeans and a white t-shirt.
Relieved that it’s over, I take a swig straight from the bottle, with tiny pieces of cork getting stuck between my teeth.
Moral of the story: Making dinner like a good wife is overrated.