Every time a cork pops, a wino gets his wings

Chicky is a child of routine. We can deviate from our usual schedule every once in a while and she adapts pretty well but not until she's had a minor meltdown. She's a kid, she likes predictability. I can't blame her one bit.

The other night Mr. C and I took her Christmas shopping with us. Nothing extreme, just a quick trip to one of the big warehouse stores looking for bargains on electronic gadgets, but she was already showing signs of crankiness. Low blood sugar. Big warehouse stores suck when you're in need of a Goldfish cracker fix.

The item I was looking for was out of stock and we didn't need four hundred pounds of diapers or giant vats of ketchup so we left empty handed, which is unusual for us. Before T.B. Wams was conceived we would have at least made a stop in the caged off liquor area for our monthly case of cheap wine.

Ah, the good old days.

As we walked out hand in hand in hand, Chicky started crying, "Noooo!"

"What's the matter honey?"

"Mama and Daddy's wiowueroujrofjsf!" she said through tears.

"What?" It's hard to understand a screaming toddler sometimes.

"Wine! Mama and Daddy need to get wine!"

"Oh, wine." We were dragging her to the car by this point, fat tears streaming down her face. We were snickering in the falling snow, proud as peacocks and not even a little embarrassed. Our kid really had our number. But Chicky was digging her feet in. How the hell could we leave without wine?

"No, hon. We're not getting any wine tonight."

"No wine?" she asked, incredulous. You silly people, she seemed to think, you live on this stuff. "Nooo! Need to get some wine!"

"Well, since Mama has a baby in her belly she can't drink wine."

Sniffling, she thought this over as Mr. C buckled her into her car seat.

She cast a longing glance through the window as we started to drive away.

"Nooo! Daddy can have wine! Daddy need wine!"

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

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