I need a drink, Roz!

That's my favorite line ever spoken in a motion picture. I bet you remember it. Doralee Rhodes has finally had it with Franklin Hart's sexual innuendos and storms out of the office. Roz Keith, that old busy body, and excellently portrayed brown-noser, asks her where she's going. Doralee looks at her without stopping and shouts, "I need a drink, Roz!" That's when all the ladies meet up in the bar, swap stories, and plot together to put an end to Hart's dirty deeds. The movie was Nine to Five. It's one of the movies I really love. Come on! Dolly. Who doesn't just love Dolly?

Anyway, that's a line which I catch myself using more and more. You see, I always wanted to be that loveable lush that seemed to hide in the corner of every movie or book. Like Margaret Foster, the office lush from Nine to Five who, right after Doralee's line, slurs, "Atta girl!" You probably have your own loveable lush in your family, even if you are non-drinking Southern Baptists. There's that one rascal uncle of yours that everyone snickers about without ever actually mentioning his "condition". My family had several such uncles and a few aunts to boot!

I always imagined myself happily staggering down the road arm in arm with my best buddies singing that proverbial loveable lush song "How Dry I Am". But alas, it was not meant to be. Hard as I tried to attain such a level of "lushishness", I never got the hang of being much of a drunk. I am not saying I've never been drunk. That, I woefully admit, I have been, dear readers. That I have been more than I would like to remember. But those were not happy times. Instead of singing quaint little ditties, I usually ended up on my knees talking to Ralph at the temple of the porcelain god.

Now, however, there's hope. Along with drinking the occasional mug of ale at the center of the universe, Hills and Dales, with my best buddies, I have been having a torrid affair with a lovely full-bodied lady named Merlot. My beloved wife is no fan of red wines. She would rather sip away at a cute little glass of white zinfandel. Why, an opened bottle of that stuff, will oft times sit in our refrigerator for months waiting for her to get to that last glass. Not me. I am very passionate with my dear Merlot. Unfortunately, she's usually gone by the end of the evening.

So you see, there is hope for me. Like Doralee, I have suffered through some pretty crappy days. When that happens, I storm out to my van, head to that fine establishment known for its selection of fine wines called WalMart and buy a bottle of merlot. Then I drive home, run into the house, toss my keys on the kitchen counter, and reach for my genuine metrokane rabbit wine opener (sturdily made of polycarbonate and reinforced nylon- with ergonomic grip pads for easier operation and now available at Amazon for only $28.69) and pop that beauty open. Rachel usually asks, from her spot on the couch in the den, "What are you doing over there?" I pour myself a HUGE glass of that lovely liquid and shout, "I need a drink, Roz!"