Honestly, I need a bib – or a very large apron. Since meeting Chantelle, my consumption of red wine has dramatically increased. I always used to be a white wine drinker, which was a perfect match for me because white wine doesn’t stain when you mess it. Unlike red.

And it is not as if the glasses are misshaped or too small. No, even the proper large glasses don’t behave when I’m drinking from them. Without fail, on every occasion, you can expect me to spill a couple of drops to a generous splash on myself or whatever is lying within range of the calculated splash area.

The latest victim of this bad habit of mine happened to be Chantelle’s moms couch. We were invited over for a family supper (delicious bobotie which for some or other reason Chantelle didn’t believe I would eat because to quote – English people don’t eat things like that). Sitting on the off white couch, I took great pride in the fact I managed to consume my meal without messing on myself on anybody around me. I took even greater pride in the fact I hadn’t spilled my beer either. And the red wine was going well too.

Well, at least until I turned to speak to Chantelle and stroke the cat sitting on the headrest of the sofa. Big mistake. Men don’t multi-task well. And so unable to cope with the increased processing load it was now put under, my brain fired a signal to my elbow to jolt against the nearest pillow and spill some wine. On my jeans (not a problem), on the couch (a problem).

Thank goodness from active alertness by Chantelle and the ability of wet cloths and improved response times to deal with impending stains. Embarrassing yes, but at least I didn’t leave my mark at the parents place just yet :)

red wine being poured into wine glasses