The other night at dinner, I remarked at how inexpensive our greatest expense had become lately. On average, $60 less than usual. Seeing as a good 2/3's of every restaurant bill was booze, and that was usually me and my wine snobbery, pregnancy had turned me into a cheap date.
And then my husband remarked, "What do you think we spend on wine a year, $12,000?"
$12,000? As in dollars? No way, no how. That's insane. But he was pretty sure of his figure. So I did the math. And much to my chagrin, he was about right.
I came up with $8,000. Conservatively. Granted, I can technically claim it as a decorating expense since it's a must that I fill the wine hutch (and the cooler), but I do ultimately drink it. Or, I did. Now I just stare at it. Open it. Smell it. Rock the bottle to sleep.
Frankly, I was a little embarrassed. Not of how much I drank of course, but of how much I spent. The equivalent of some mortgages. But then I learned I was not alone. This figure was not surprising to friends and relatives that shall remain nameless, and in some cases exceeded my ridiculousness.
Seems this is a popular way of coping. I suppose it's cheaper than blow. Or therapy.