The Problem with Wine

For years, Mike and I attended a Baptist church together. We could assume, given a gathering of people from that church, that most would not touch alcohol. Most of the time, that was perfectly hunky-dory.

Years passed and we became friends with some of these fine folk and we ferreted out who would actually drink and who wouldn't. We wouldn't ever get poo-faced with any of them, but it was fun to order wine with dinner or have a cup of beer at the ballpark, if the timing seemed right.

Fast forward to this past weekend, where we found ourselves squarely in the midst of an Anglican church dinner where wine was flowing freely.

Now, to truly understand my position on this issue, you have to understand my upbringing: I grew up in a house where "It's 5 o'clock somewhere" was actually not a cutesy phrase but a commandment. If it was 5pm, someone in our house was making something that had booze in it.

Needless to say, I grew up to believe that having a little cocktail, or two, on a daily basis was not only A-OK, but was completely normal. In fact, it was truly like clock work.

Considering I am a child of the 80's and that every house constructed during that time period had a wet bar, I learned in my early-teens that manipulating the bottles could lead to a night on the town with a Route 66 Diet Coke laced with Jim Beam. All it took was a little opportunity, a splash of water, and nerve.*

Are you getting the point that I am no stranger to liquor? And that I am blessed to have never needed AA but realize that there were points in my life where I was probably just one gene shy from being a raving drunk? Yuppers.**

So, imagine my surprise, when paired with others from the church, when the conversation went down this path:

70+ year old single lady, who brought her own bottle of wine and was sharing it with another "seasoned" lady: "I used to volunteer for the SPCA."

My brain: "What a darling lady! How generous to volunteer her time that way!"

70+: "The funniest pet we ever had was a parrot."

The conversation around the table turns to another 50+ couple who had a parrot that has departed the Earth, but that they loved. "Parrots are so smart...they live a long time...you put them in your will to pass to the next generation..." Lots of lively editorial comments from around the table ensue.

70+: "Well, this particular parrot came from a pretty rough upbringing."

My brain: "OH. That's so sad."

70+: "And, every time someone would pass by this bird, it would say the same thing."

My brain: (Smiling at the thought of the cutesy phrase this sweet, elderly woman is about to share) "I bet it said 'Polly wants a cracker' or 'Pretty bird'. What a sweet lady for helping that bird."

70+: "It would say F&*% you."

The entire table gasps for air. Then starts nervously laughing. We are in a church building, after all. And the weather has been weird lately with lots of tornadoes and heavy wind and rain and hail. Good gravy, where the heck is the closest empty set of seats?? Mike and I need to move NOW. In fact, where's the exit? We need to be completely out of this building before death and destruction hit it for dropping the "F" bomb on church premises.

As if saying it once wasn't bad enough, Ms. 70+ got such a great reaction out of the crowd that she must have said it four more times before we finally had to leave to retrieve the boys. Every time, the reaction was the same, just more nervous than before.

I know Jesus made water into wine. I know we drink wine to celebrate communion, at Jesus' request, which is the symbol of the blood he poured out for us. But, for crying out loud, know your limits, people!

And, parrot people everywhere? THINK. Parrots are just like children with feathers. If you say it more than once, they are going to repeat it. And, like children, for the next 20 years, you are going to hear those mistakes you made.

And, to my new friend from church? Next time, I'm bringing the "wine". If it looks suspiciously like grape juice to you, well.....



*Yes. I had it.

**Also inherent in this statement is great gratitude for the Lord not teaching me any lessons after a massive car accident.