Today I would like to invite you into my whine cellar. I don’t go there often, preferring to pretend it doesn’t exist. In fact, I keep a bookcase of Bibles and solid Christian books in front of the door to hide it.
But I do need to check it. Once I tried making my own ginger beer, but the bottles exploded. Unexplored whines have the same potential, and I think there are bottles I have forgotten about. They are the most dangerous.
Of course, I have divided the cellar into vintages. The most tasteless are those laced with gripe water, whose contents complain of personal inconveniences and adversities. I think I’ll unplug a few and let the contents out.
Here’s one that bleats I can’t find help in department stores when I need it, except furniture stores, where I am harassed by salesmen—or should I say salespersons—better unplug that one, it’s pretty weak anyway!
Come and see how many of these I have. I can collect a dozen a day without effort. But they get very heavy, hauling them around. Glad of the cellar to store them. The larger the collection, the more justified I feel keeping them.
A slightly better vintage are bottles containing personal injustices. They’re good for future use; I can reinforce new grievances with those.
But the best whines are for others unjustly treated. I can hold forth eloquently on this subject. Trouble is, few of these bottles have distilled any personal action. Perhaps they will mature more with time. I’ll just leave them to age some more.
Most of the time I feel miserable down here, but opening a bottle or two helps. More of the same—hair of the dog—copes for a while, even if it leaves a remorseful hangover tomorrow. So it’s a good place for a pity party. Let’s open a couple and stretch our scruples a bit.
On second thoughts, it’s dark and chilly down here. I think we need some fresh air. All the good things of life are back upstairs. A coffee and cookie will help forget about this gloomy place. Besides, ours is a life of joy, we must accentuate the positive.
Unfortunately, that bookcase full of Bibles won’t let me forget. It’s almost as if they reveal the door they’re supposed to hide. I must admit looking forward to an occasional retreat down there. Even the bitter whines taste good and help bolster my sagging vanity.
OK, I will have to deal with the contents of that cellar soon, but I’m too busy right now; I have to get ready for church.