The Accident

This is our kitchen. Well, it was our kitchen. It has its quirks, but for the most part it’s pretty darn cool. Lately, it doesn’t look so fab. It all started a couple of weekends ago (it was impossible to discuss…it was simply too maddening for us) with this bottle of wine…
As you see, it’s a bottle of Vermont wine we picked up during our honeymoon. It used to live atop our fridge housed in a stack of Pier 1 wine racks that looked eerily similar to this one…
After a day spent out of the house, we returned to find that the top two wine racks had fallen over, dumping about seven bottles, unharmed, all over the floor. I was curious as to whether it might have caused any pressure issues or what have you, but we simply replaced all the bottles with a raised eyebrow of caution. Silly us.

Later that evening, I awoke to a screaming husband (apparently I was dead to the world and he’d yelled several other times – “Something happened! I don’t know what but I NEED YOU NOW!!”). So, in that shaky, just-woke-from-a-dead-sleep daze, I ran to the kitchen. I instantly saw a stream of red liquid, along with splatters on walls and a few paw prints traipsing it across the floor. I thought it was blood, and I thought one of the cats was dead.

THANK GOD it wasn’t. The aforementioned wine had popped its own cork (LOL why does that sound dirty??) and emptied its contents EVERYWHERE. Our mostly white kitchen was mostly red, and if we hadn’t started cleaning immediately, it never would’ve been white again. Less than an hour later, we were exhausted, but it was mostly cleaned.

The only evidence I have to show was taken after we had cleaned up – which I took pictures of the next day. We still had wine that had found its way down the fridge’s door seal, leaving one last middle finger (and a constant one, at that) for a few more days.

The worst casualties, other than the fact that we still have a hard time drinking wine (that smell was disgusting!) and the bottle, itself, were several lost items – from dear wedding invitations to a cherished magnet that my mother had given me – and my first-ever reupholstered thrift store chair. It was refinished (while I waited anxiously for the house to close, my only “keep me busy” project) in a white silk-like fabric and gave a luxurious, ’30s feel to the kitchen…and was directly in Purple Haze’s line of fire. I will reupholster it in a new fabric, but it was simply unsalvageable as is. One of the cats’ favorite napping places (but, here, Boo’s posing next to it)…

Now dyed all shades of purple and crimson (much more obvious in person, I assure you) lying beneath all the towels and the white rug that got soaked. Thank goodness for bleach and borax!

So, that’s the story of what Dave refers to as “The Accident.” We were at Fly Creek Cider Mill yesterday perusing the wines when he said, “I don’t really feel like buying anymore, after the accident” only to pause, then say, “Wow, that makes it sound like one of us got a DUI, doesn’t it?”

Don’t worry, the Dellecese Prohibition Era won’t last nearly as long as the original one. After all, he’s from bootlegger blood.