Drinks with the Contessa

Many of you have, I know, experienced Paul's right hook in relation to a glass of wine--especially red wine. If not, just let me say that his 'best shot' occurred across the table from a woman dressed in a white suit--need I say more! It's been a source of many jokes at his expense and it keeps me on my toes trying to anticipate where I should be sitting and how I can best intervene while he's telling stories when there's wine on the table!



Well, the day has finally come, when I will NEVER be able to mention his 'wine shots' again. Yesterday, was a day I'll not long forget and not just because the stock market went down ANOTHER 500 points. We were shopping at a local gourmet store finding goodies for dinner when we ran into our landlady, the Contessa. It was a bit of a walk back to the apartment, she had rather a heavy package, a cane and given how gracious she's been to us, Paul volunteered to carry her groceries back--we were afterall going the same way. Once home, she invited us in for a cocktail and who could resist--I was dying to see her space. This apatment has 15 foot ceilings, a kitchen with a cooking spit large enough to roast a pig and a sink the size of a small bathtub. It's filled with Renisannce art, furnished with antiques and the two dogs who immediately jumped into our laps just completed the picture. Things were going well until I went into the room where I had left our groceries to put something away. A bag slipped and crashed to the floor which was concrete covered in clay tiles. You can probably guess this doesn't have a good ending and that it involves quantities of red wine! Right! Not only did the bottle smash, but the glass splintered and it rolled out of the bag! THE ENTIRE BOTTLE spilled on a rug that looked and probably was hundreds of years old! I WANTED TO DIE! Could I possibly ignore it and just pretend it didn't happen???? Would anyone notice???? NOT! Not only was there a puddle on the rug that looked like someone had been shot and killed on the spot, but there were splashes on the antique chairs she had pointed out that came from France and had been in the family for decades. Well, I was horrified, what to do, how could I begin to appologize??? In the end after picking up shards, sponging the chair (all traces came out--thank gawd), the housekeeper and her daughter carried the rug into the laundry room to try to spot clean what they could. With assurances that "it's alright", "these things happen" and on and on, we went back into the family room for our glass of wine, but I have to say, I was NOT comfortable and could hardly wait to escape.