the bottom of the barrel

i came home from work the other day feeling particularly defeated and decided to curl up on the couch in my favorite pink pajama bottoms to drown my sorrows in three-buck-chuck and spend some quality time with the gilmore girls. i eyed the half-empty bottle of wine on the counter and weighed my options. sure i could do the civilized thing and use a glass, but i'd finally finished washing a giant pile of dishes. for a second it seemed reasonable- nobody would have to know that i'd sunk so low. i'm not sure how long i stood there in the kitchen having an internal debate about whether i was ready to give in and become a completely barbaric pig, but i somehow managed to come to my senses and decided that if i was going to drink alone on the couch at 6:30 on a weekday the least i could do was to use stemwear.