Back in December, I won a contest I hadn’t even entered. I was one of two winners actually, who were the I think 10,000^th commenters over at Andra Watkins’ kickass blog The Accidental Cootchie Mama. Good thing Andra and I both live in the South, because my prize was a darling little bottle of her Aroncello. (I’m proofreading. I now have NO IDEA what living in the South has to do with ANYTHING, but the sentence stands as a testament to the weird things I say.)

 

See it there? So adorable?

 

That’s Andra with her dashing beau, the enigmatically named MTM.

 

The instructions were very clear. Don’t drink it until Valentine’s day. Any sooner, and it will taste like medicine. Put it in the freezer where it will not freeze, and forget about it.

Yeah, I forget things sooo well.

I put it on the freezer door, and then I thought about it every time I opened my door for the next two months. Seriously. Every time. “How’s my Aroncello doing?” “Are you comfy down there?” “Let me just shake you up a little. In case, you know, you’re starting to feel cramped”.

I had plans for that little bottle. I was going to open it up on Valentines day, toast Scott, who would have his drink of choice (rum and coke) and we were going to then …  go right on working. God. What do you think married people have time for? Get your mind out of the gutter.

Sheesh.

Where was I?

Oh. VD.

What?

I said get your mind out of the gutter already.

OK, Valentine’s day. There, that’s where I was. When Valentine’s day rolled around, I was two weeks into a month-long sinus infection that would take multiple rounds of antibiotics and one exploding sinus (don’t ask – blood was involved) to cure. All jokes about alcohol clearing up your nasal passages aside, I didn’t think my stomach could handle anything stronger than Diet Coke. It was actually pretty dubious about that.

So I looked sadly at my little bottle of aroncello and said, “Wait for me dear.”  And it did.

The next real weekend, we were out of town, and I wasn’t about to take along something pretty and orange that didn’t have a childproof lid, then put it where Sam could ferret it out. I’m not stupid. And so my aroncello waited. And waited. The following weekend was pure agony. I won’t go into details, but it was bad enough that my enjoyment would have been marred. Last weekend, same story.

My poor little aroncello. It probably thought I had forgotten it (like I was supposed to do). It probably thought it would be trapped on that bottom shelf forever. BUT! Tonight, finally, the chaos is limited, the children are distracted, and that’s as good as it gets on a Saturday night.

So I poured myself a dram. (NB: That’s a cordial glass.  It’s small.) The liquid was surprisingly thick given how easily it shifted in its adorable bottle.

I toasted.

I drank.

And it was good.

Good night sweet aroncello. Let our parting be but short, for … I don’t remember the rest of that quotation. It’s kind of strong.  Thanks again to the awesome Cootchie Mama (Accidental) for one of the best wins ever.

 

About jesterqueen: Jessie Powell is the Jester Queen. She likes to tell you about her dog, her kids, her fiction, and her blog, but not necessarily in that order.