Boxed Wine Equals One Bad Ass

I love wine.  I love wine so much that I drink at least a glass a day.  Did you know that if you drink it in moderation, it’s good for your health?  That’s why I really like it but it also makes me feel relaxed after a long day.  There is nothing like that warm, calm feeling I get after that first sip.  You know, kind of like that feeling you get during a massage but almost better.  I said almost.

Wine can get expensive and I am cheap.  If I could, I would buy my wine in a box all the time.  I would sit that baby up on my countertop with its little spigot and just go and drink from the fountain whenever my heart desired.  It’s there, it’s ready, it’s fully loaded with lots of liquid yummy-ness.

But I can’t.  I’m about to say something that will make you say, “hey Mo, this is waaaay too much information” but that’s okay.  Because we all know that I am all about sharing TMI, putting it all out there.  When do I ever hold back?  Anyway, I discovered that I was sensitive to the amazingly awesome invention of the boxed wine during my engagement party circa 1991.

Here’s how it went down:  I drank a couple of glasses of it, I was having a great time.  The future DH and I were at the front of the room opening our ten thousand gifts when the first “rumble, grumble, pop” hit me faster than a run-away freight train going down the Himalayas.  I excused myself and ran — not walked — to the nearest restroom.  What came out of me was obscene.  And it didn’t stop.  For a very long time.  I had a horseshoe printed on my bottom from sitting for so long.  I’m surprised it wasn’t followed up by a hemorrhoid.  What was especially sad about this story is that when I finally exited the lavatory, most everyone had gone home.  You could hear crickets.  Seriously.


Yes, that is a pic of me on the left sitting on the toilet.  My wonderful mother snuck her camera up over the stall.  You know, just in case I forgot the turmoil of what was supposed to be a happy day.  The future DH is feeding me some alcohol in the form of Imodium AD.  Does Imodium even contain alcohol?

Was it a coincidence?  Possibly, but I’m not 100% completely certain.  So to test it, I had some boxed wine at Thanksgiving that year.  Just half a glass.  All I can say is that thank God none of the 20+ people in attendance were using the toilets in the house at that moment because it came on strong, hard and sudden.  Although the planter in the hall would have worked just fine as a second choice.  And I would not have had a problem using it.  Not that I really would have had much of a choice.

As if there weren’t enough proof, I actually tried boxed wine one other time after that.  I don’t remember the details exactly but I do remember the same effect.  I’m guessing that there is some kind of preservative they put into boxed wine to make it last longer.  I’m also going to take another guess and say that I don’t get along well with this preservative.  Who knows.  All I do know is that I can’t drink it.  Not even a sip.

So, if I am coming to your house, please don’t serve me wine in a box.  Unless you want to see a show.  Or hear a show.  Or have a sudden septic problem.  Seriously.  Don’t mess with me.  It will backfire.  Pardon the pun.

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