Wrong, Again

He pointed to the lone bottle in the rack.
"You'll probably need to get more wine."
My husband's parting words.

"Maybe not," I'd said, vanilla-cool and twice as bland. "Maybe I won't need to drink if you're not here."

Joking.
Okay, half-joking.

But it was around 24 hours later and shortly before 2 p.m. when I realized I'd been wrong, again.

After all, it is the Summer of the Incessant Questions, and endurance of that kind requires fermented fortitude.

So, it was off to CVS.

Six bottles should last the week.
I hope.