she waddled over to the checkout line labelled CREDIT CARD ONLY with her three bottles.
“these are all red, right?” she asked the cashier, who held them up to the fluorescent light to check. it’s strange that a mistake in color can amount to a completely different taste.
the price tag on one of her bottles read: $2.99. the one in the middle had a multi-colored label that matched her bright magenta lipstick. the last one didn’t look red to me.
she asked the man to put the bottles in separate brown bags within the plastic bag with handles.
“’cause you know, the hit against each other… one time they cracked and all the wine spilled,” she explained.
“oh no!” i said as i turned toward her, “that’s terrible!”
“i know; i cried,” she replied with a wide smile.
“it’s not like milk. you’re not supposed to cry when that spills, but wine—wine is symbolic.”
“yeah… anything it takes to get through the week, you know?”
“i know.”