Drinkin Wine Spodeeodie, Drinkin’ Wine

Mix Shoes has had a few rough days at work, at physical therapy, at life. Tonight, upon leaving work late, and having worked straight through lunch, I made a stop at the bodega on the ground floor of my office building. They’re new, and they sell wine and beer, which means they may last longer than the usual six months that restaurants in that particular space last. It was with little hope that I stopped in on my way to the train.

I don’t suppose you’d sell me a glass of wine to go, in a styrofoam coffee cup with a lid, would you? Well, bless Miz Shoes soul, they did. I had a lovely ride home, sucking down my generic red plonk through the sippy lid. For an added treat, the RLA took me to the Middle Eastern joint for supper, where I indulged in carbohydrates, to wit: gaymeh and tardig.

I am now thoroughly fuzzy brained, and thoroughly happy.

Tomorrow night we will be dining with cousins who have escaped the current snowpocalypse. They insisted on Joe’s over on South Beach. I am probably the only person in Miami who would rather not eat there. Yeah, the food is good, but damn. I have no patience for the pretentiousness. Or the monstrous waits. Well, there is always the bar.