The tipping point

I've been sort of sick the last couple of days (sore throat, fatigue and vague nausea). However, after a generous helping of my favorite elixir and an accompanying good night's sleep, I'm back in the game. I only had time for an abbreviated walk today, but those 35 minutes warmed my very soul. By the time I got back to my apartment I was full of energy for the impending work day. I bustled through the night, and when I got home I felt like celebrating my impending weekend -- which promises a trip to the dentist, dinner with my parents and a visit from Auntie ADoD -- with a glass of wine.

Those of you who've known me for a while know I'm not ashamed to drink wine from a box. Hell, I prefer wine from a box: It stays fresh forever, and you get a lot for your money. What's not to like? Wine snobs the world over may turn their noses up, but I truly do not care.

Anyway, the box of wine that's been sitting in my fridge for the last several weeks got some good use during my vacation, and tonight it reached the tipping point: that moment when you must, yes, tip the apparatus to extract a full glass. I'm not sure why, but this always cracks me up. The only thing funnier to me in this context is that moment when you rip the box apart, retrieve the bag and squeeze out the remaining dregs, which I fully expect to happen sometime between now and Saturday night.