So last night Rachel came home kind of bummed due to work stress. It happens, you know? Every so often you are just like, "Work is a bummer." And when that happens, your loving wife might respond, "Can I get you a glass of wine?"
And you break open a nice bottle of Malbec. You drink together because sometimes drinking alone is a slippery slope into the moat of self-doubt that surrounds the fortress of "having a problem", you know what I mean?
Somehow, and no one knows how this comes to pass, but somehow you two look at your one glass of wine and realize you have finished the bottle. You are super enjoying the conversation that pings between the Philadelphia School Reform Commission, the Marxist theory of history, and how femmes have to verbally come out to every new person they meet. You are super enjoying the shortbread cookies that mysteriously wound up on the table and in your mouth. You are super enjoying the whole damn evening.