My Fellow Inebriates,
My parents did something hateful yesterday.
They said there was no point packing bottles that nobody (excuse me?) was ever going to drink.
Now, I thought we were moving eight blocks, not to freaking Utah. What the hell are they thinking getting rid of (reasonably) potable booze?
It was yet another instance of horrific cruelty leading up to our move. First the wine glasses got packed. Then our weird assortment of bottle openers. And then the bloodletting started. Nine-year-old languishing Malibu—down the drain. Bacardi Big Apple (RIP, gummy bears)—gone (with despicable insensitivity to yours truly, skulking by the filthy sink). Mezcal con gusano—saved only because it is too small to take up much room.
Look how disgusting our sink is. I swear my mother never cleans it. I mean, it tasted awful.