A Sad Beaujolais Day

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 Today, the 3rd Thursday in November, is Beaujolais Nouveau day. Now, I'm not a huge fan of this particular wine style, although I always enjoy the quirkiness of unique wines, if not the actual wine itself. But for vinophiles, it's almost a holiday, a day to celebrate the annual release of that young, fruity Gamay and more importantly...MOST importantly, it gives you a reason to go to the wine store.
 

Now, my beautiful wife Emily is not only the brains of this outfit, but she also controls the purse strings. That's not to say I dont have carte blanche when it comes to spending for our business, I do. A responsibility I abuse on a regular basis if you ask the aforementioned beautiful wife. But when it comes to spending money on anything else, my opinion means less than nothing. So for wine store excursions I have 2 options. Just do it knowing I'm going to catch hell for it, or have a legit reason to go. Enter Beaujolais Nouveau day.

Preparation in life is always the key to success. For weeks I had laid the groundwork for today by dropping subtle, but strategically placed nuggets. A little comment here, a little reminder there. On Monday a subtle "Nouveau would go great with this" while unpacking salmon from the grocery bag is met with an encouraging "sure would, let's have it Thursday".

Today was D-Day. When I brought breakfast up to her I asked, in the most nonchalant way I could manage, "I guess I will hit the wine store after I get back from taking Gustavo (our cat) to the vet. Do you want anything special besides the Nouveau"? She lit up with the realization of what day it was. "Get something interesting, but dont overdo it".

"Get something interesting, but don't overdo it". That's it, I was home. Those are exactly the words Neville Chamberlain had for Hitler before he invaded Czechoslovakia. After bringing Gus home from getting his shots I got in the car and headed out. I didn't even go in the house, I didn't want to take a chance of ending up in a conversation with Emily. I learned a long time ago when you get the answer you want stop talking. So I was off, my imagination running wild with visions of wine buying grandeur.

On my drive I made the decision to take full advantage of this annual opportunity...but to be careful to not push it over the edge. I didn't want to take a chance of ruining this annual vino bonanza. Arriving at the store I used one of my favorite techniques for keeping myself in check, I walked past the shopping carts and picked up a basket instead. I knew that, if pushing a cart, I would fill that baby up. On the other hand, that basket would only hold 8 or 9 bottles, it was a built in regulator. While I did end up with a basket in each hand the sheer weight helped reign in my wine shopping frenzy. I was going to be able to sell this double basket system to Emily by describing how important it is to evenly distribute the weight I carry due to my very, very bad back.

 Despite being incredibly disappointed with the stores Virginia wine section I managed to find some real gems including an Octagon, a King Family Meritage and a Jefferson Chardonnay, one of Emilys favorites. Non Virginia wines included a nice Chablis for Emily to have with her turkey next week along with the required collection of Marlborough district Sauv  Blancs. I treated myself to a Ridge Geyserville.

The ride home was as grand as any conquering heroes return from overseas victories. I had used, what I considered to be, proper restraint. The credit card did not max out. I bought a wide range of Emilys favorites and I scored some coveted prizes for myself. It was going to be a great week leading up to next weeks Thanksgiving, I could feel it in my bones.

 
Once home I unloaded my booty and put everything on the kitchen table. By now Emily was done with work, and I heard her coming down the stairs. She walks in the kitchen and sees the wine. She lights up like a pinball machine, that gorgeous smile telling me I was going to be ok. Each wine she pulled out of the box was given her approval. That is, until the last wine. It's not that it was a wine she didn't like, it was a Jefferson Chardonnay, which she loves. The problem with the last wine out of the box was that it wasn't a Beaujolais Nouveau. Nor were any of its predecessors. You see, on Beaujolais Nouveau day I had forgotten to buy the Beaujolais Nouveau. 

Dinner was quiet. Emily read her phone as she ate and I listened to myself chew and wondered if the  Nouveau I didn't buy would have really gone that well with the salmon. On the bright side I have to go back to the wine store.

 A great American philosopher, I believe it was Tony the Tiger, once expounded on the virtues of starting your day off right. While I'm not sure its "right" I start every day exactly the same way. It goes like this. At 430 ish I will wake up to a rustling sound. By that time of the morning Emily will have retreated from the bed to her recliner right beside the bed to give her back some relief. She will be in a cocoon of blankets with only her face showing. As I drift back off to sleep I am snapped out of it by words spoken so coldly, so hatefully, that it chills my blood. "I effing hate you". Now Emily is known by all as a true sweetie, but what people don't understand is that first thing in the morning her disposition is more like that of a rabid badger. I carefully turn my head in that direction trying not to expose the fact I'm awake. I'm instantly in fear she has had an epiphany in her sleep and has figured me out. This was overdue, you cant keep anybody buffaloed this long. Hoping and praying those cutting words were not intended for me I take a peak over my own mountain of blankets. There is just enough light for me to see her reclined. Sitting on her chest, his face literally inches from her face, is our 18 pound Mastiff....er, I mean Tuxedo cat, Spin. Their eyes are locked on one another like 2 western gunfighters. This death stare goes on for minutes....minutes where the tension is so thick it makes it feel like hours. In my mind I hear the whistling background music of a spaghetti western. Finally Spin makes his move, not quickly, but slowly and deliberately. He reaches his right paw out, extends it thru that 3 inch no man's land, and taps Emily on the tip of her nose. As he withdraws his paw and resumes his unbroken stare I wait for the response. In kind Emily's response is slow and deliberate. Without moving a muscle or breaking eye contact she now repeats "I effing hate you". Except she isnt saying "effing". As if to give a dramatic pause nothing happens for 5 or 6 seconds, and then the mountain of covers explodes. The bed is pummeled with blankets flying off the recliner. Spin, sensing the danger leaps onto the bed and runs across, trampling me in the process. As I lie there like an unfortunate "run of the bulls" victim at Pampalona I look to the other side of the room. Spin now sits there watching Emily's efforts to get up. Our other two cats, Marty and Suki sit beside him marveling at the action only he can start. Emily is on her feet now stomping towards, and then thru, the bedroom door. The house is shaking. No soft walk here......no concerns about being quiet so she doesn't wake me up......this is a goose stepping, gonna kill a cat, Hitler invading Czechoslovakia stomp. I look at the 3 cats. As Emily starts down the stairs Spin stands up, does a long, leisurely stretch and meanders slowly out the door. Marty and Suki get up, high five one another and follow. Yep, it's their breakfast time. By the time she comes back up Suki is already back, sleeping on my legs and I am nodding off. As she gets back in the recliner and rebuilds the mountain of covers I hear her muttering under her breath "it's me or these damn cats".  I go back to sleep thinking about how much I'm going to miss Emily. When I wake up in the morning Emily has already gone into the other room to work. I go downstairs, accompanied by Marty and Suki and make breakfast. Then we bring Emily's breakfast up to her. She is sitting there, intent on the 2 computer monitors, working the mouse with her right hand and with her left stroking Spin, purring like a 5 Horsepower Briggs and Stratton, who is laying beside her on the table. "How did you sleep" I ask. "Not bad, got up at 430 to feed the cats but they didn't eat anything". Every day folks. Every. Single. Day.