In absence of her....

"Damn, I had seen it earlier", were the thoughts in my mind as I stood there shifting through the knives and forks in my kitchen. I looked in the drawer, the cabinet, the wash basin, everywhere but to no avail. In desperation I even went to my landlady even she did not have it. It was final then, I had the wine, the occasion and the company but I did not have a cork screw to open the bottle. I could hear Mrs Gaur, my maths teacher in high school, laughing as her words had come true, "One day you will realise the importance of paying attention to detail, and then you will remember me." Not to be outdone, I embarked on a mission to open the bottle come what may. I thought what could a cork screw do that pins, needles and knives cannot achieve. I poked the needles and pins at various angles inside the cork and once I was done, with a smile of achievement, I pulled them but the cork stay put; I was screwed without a cork screw. I tried this and that but the cork would not budge an inch, it had holes all over it but it would just not allow me to get in. Frustrated and out of wits, I decided I would get my revenge, I took the knife and stabbed the cork violently as a man possessed. It bled, it bled wine but only a trickle.

All this while my date was standing along side me and looking at my unsuccessful attempts of being able to poke, but I was hoping that she was dumb and could not put two and two together. The foreplay continued for a while when she passed a snide remark, " We should break the bottle open" she said in humor. A girl suggesting me what is to be done, what is to be done with alcohol, how I should open something, that was too much for me to take. But I had apprehensions too, how will I break it open, what if I will not be able to open it, what if there would be no wine... However, masking my apprehensions, and to display my masculinity to a hilt, I said a yes and even before she could utter another word, I was halfway down the stairs going out in the garden.

By the time I had was out, the adrenaline had gone and sanity was trying to take over me. I looked back inside the house and saw her descending down the stairs; testosterone took over from where the adrenaline had left and in a moment I was hitting the bottle on the grill. I could have burst the bottle open with a heavy blow, but as much as my testosterone wanted the bottle open, it also wanted the wine to be inside the bottle. Truly ravaged by this hormonal caution, I sat down and tried to brick it open. After a couple of tries, desperation took over caution and bham, the bottle was open. In moments I poured the wine into a pan, and thought of sifting through it for glass, but the estrogens had also started to boil and there I was striking glasses and hoping for more in the course of the night... That that wine tasted like manna, would be an understatement. I did not have a cork-screw that night, but I could screw the cork out.

PS: I got another bottle of wine a couple of days later, and again not listening to Mrs Gaur, forgot to bring a corkscrew. That bottle still sits on the table- eyeing me everyday, wanting not something to open it, but that someone to open it. Waiting for that night, when she will be back, if ever....