Today, I tried to purchase champagne for a friend. Unfortunately, he lives in a state you can’t ship alcohol to. Thinking myself clever, I did a google search and called up a wine shop close to his home. Let’s listen in and see how this conversation went.

ME: Hello, I was wondering if I could buy something for a friend. I’m out of state.

WINESELLER: Of course, that would be no problem.

ME: Great! I made a bet on a bottle of champagne and lost.

WINESELLER: Very good. (droll laughter)

ME: And you can take care of the delivery?

WINESELLER: I will take the bottle myself, personally, today.

ME: Wow! Really? That’s fantastic. So, the bet we made was on a bottle of Moet & Chandon White Star, I guess they’re calling it Imperial these days. Do you have that in stock?

awkward pause

WINESELLER: No.

ME: Do you have any other varieties of Moet?

WINSELLER: No, we do not carry any varities of poo.

awkward pause. (perhaps he didn’t specifically use the word “poo.”)

WINESELLER: We do not carry mass produced poo. We only carry boutique, handcrafted champagne and wine. No poo.

awkward pause, while I wonder if I should inquire further.

WINESELLER: I would be happy to recommend an establishment with champagne you can afford. (And yes, he specifically used those exact words.)

ME: Ummm….okay?

WINESELLER: Please call Soandso Liquor store. They’re close by and can help you with the sort of poo you’re looking for.

ME: Ummmm….thank you?

WINESELER: Happy to be of help! And I hope you’re able to get the poo delivered to your friend.

ME: Me, too.

*****

Okay, so, I have some questions. Where the hell did I call? The private purveyors of champagne to the royal family of Monaco? I called this place because they popped up on top of my google search. There was nothing in the little blurb that said, “Do not call unless you have an American Express Black card.” But I have little doubt that the man was right – I am sure there is nothing in that store I could afford.

And like, am I crazy, or isn’t Moet a perfectly respectable bottle of champagne? I mean, it’s fifty bucks. Isn’t fifty bucks decent? I mean, it’s not like I was asking for Andre or something. I did not ask for Barefoot Bubbly. I did not ask for for Yellow Tail Sparkling Wine. Not that there’s anything wrong with cheap champagne, either. (Although asking a wineseller to arrange delivery of such would be a bit gauche.)

I don’t know. I just found the thing so baffling. And he was so eager to be helpful, while simultaneously letting me know exactly where I stood on the socio-economic ladder. Maybe he’s hoping one day I’ll be able to climb up a few rungs.

In any case, I did call Soandso Liquor Store, and they were great. Totally reminded me of Old Town Spirits here in Pendleton. They even gift wrapped it at no extra charge. So, all’s well that ends well, I guess.

Some of you may remember this post wherein my husband said some things I found to be incomprehensible. Namely, he’d had a run of horrible pain/congestion/pressure inside of his head. Like, his head was broken.

So, he gets a CAT scan of his head, and they tell him, “It’s because of your deviated septum.”

Evan said, “If it hasn’t bothered me for 30 years, I don’t see why it would start now.”

I am paraphrasing. The actual conversation is in the first post. My reaction was like, “Are you nuts? It’s caused you all this pain, and you say that?”

Well, as it turns out, EVAN WAS RIGHT. The issue was his rear-most upper molar. It didn’t show up on x-rays, but it was going bad. By the time he had a root canal done, three of the four roots were dead, and the last one was actively infected. That infection was going up into his sinus, causing the congestion.

Obviously, everyone in the Flower household is very happy about the laying on of endodontist hands that led to the miraculous healing.

Except.

EVAN WAS RIGHT. Again. Evan’s bullheaded distrust of the medical community was proven right. Again. At this rate, he’s never going to listen to me, or them, ever again. Not that he ever listened to anybody in the first place. But this incident will only reinforce said bullheaded distrust.

That said, they wanted to do surgery and reorganize the shape of his head. Meanwhile, it was a tooth that caused all the trouble. And by trouble I mean a year’s worth of pain/agony/countless sleepless nights/and the inability to breathe through one’s nose.

There’s a lesson here, and that lesson is, if I’m going to eat crow, you better believe I’ll at least get a blog post out of it.

1 hour ago, in a small house in a small town in a small, Southern state.

Wife has infected sliver in her right index finger.

A lovely meal is shared – chicken with yogurt sauce, green beans and watermelon for dessert. The meal is finished. Wife decides to fix finger.

Husband: Did you just bite a hole in your finger?

Wife: Yeah.

Husband: With your teeth?

Wife: Yeah.

Husband: At the dinner table?

Wife: Yeah.

Husband wears looks of digust.

Wife: Ya wanna see it? (She shows husband hole in finger.) Oh, hey! There WAS a sliver in there! I can see it!

Wife fiddles with finger.

Wife: I guess I should go take care of this.

Husband: Yes.