Merry's Wine

Merry walked in the front door. I like that her name is a happy adjective.

In one hand, Merry juggled a bottle of wine, car keys, and an over-sized purse.  In her other hand she held her work bag and a wet swimming towel. Her cell phone was precariously glued to her ear with her shoulder.  Her leg shot out and whip-kicked the door closed. She dropped her baggage on the small sofa by the front door. The bottle of wine rolled dangerously close to the edge of the couch.  With her nearly world famous duck-walk, she hurriedly wobbled down the hall to the bathroom.

She always had to pee. I like to say; put her in a car, shake her around for twenty minutes, pee rises to the top like fizz in a soda water. Needless to say, she doesn’t appreciate that visual.

I had been sitting on the large overstuffed couch. Remote in one hand and the other hand swirling the last swallow of my warm beer. Held my breath as the wine bottle rolled around the couch; I almost jumped up when it teetered on the edge.

My idea hit me suddenly. They usually do.
I knew she wouldn’t find it nearly as funny as I did. She usually doesn’t.

I took the last quick swig of my beer.  Bounced silently off the couch and sprinted to the kitchen. I grabbed the bottle opener, and my extra-large snap koozie. It was intended for 32 ounce beers.

Ask me why I own it? Who knows?

I spring boarded to the love seat, scooped up the bottle; had the cork off before the toilet flushed. Slapped on the koozie and took a huge pull just as the door opened.

She stood there in shock. “I suppose you think that's funny”

300 Words