I paid six bucks for a glass of shitty-ass house wine tonight. Normally, that wouldn't bother me at all, but I'm squeezing a nickel until the beaver farts, these days.
I could have gotten a drink from the uncle of whom we do not speak, but I declined. Seeing as I was standing right beside my father, and my uncle practically ignored HIS BROTHER, I was not taking a drink from that man.
You would think that for a formal banquet, booze would be supplied. After that little exchange, I certainly needed one.
Cheap-ass farmers. Sheesh!
However, given that, and the conversation I just had with N, I think it's time I fired up the still and started making some hooch* again.
Who's with me?
*My version of "hooch" is home-made wine and beer. Completely legal. I am not Hawk-eye, and Chez PeePee is not the swamp. But it's close. I think the cats are Major Burns and Major Hoolihan.