A couple of weeks ago I abandoned a struggle I was having with an Argentinian bottle of red wine mid pull. The cork was halfway out and I simply lacked the upper body strength and dedication to daydrinking that it took to make the cork budge further. The cork was halfway out and my Rabbit wine bottle opener could no longer make the critical connection to the top of the bottle. It was stuck. Argentinian bottle of red wine sat on my counter, mocking me.
While I have other things to do that preclude me day drinking, while I was heating up my Lean Cuisine and tearing up boxes to flatten for recycling, I felt pretty invincible.
I grabbed the bottle and my Rabbit and went out to the couch. I wrapped my newly shaved (and only slightly bleeding knee) legs around the bottle and went to war.
I am not the sort of person who yells out at movies, or says much of anything unless someone is there to listen. But after finding reserves of strength in hands and arms that forced that Rabbit to take that damn bottle, the cork popped and I said, I kid you not, out loud, to no one but the cats, “TAKE THAT YOU FUCKING ARGENTINIAN RED! I AM MOTHERFUCKING HERCULES!”
It was so loud, the cats ran off and hid.
But, you know, I fucking win.