It’s friday night. You came home from work late and exhausted. The bottle of wine sitting on the kitchen counter is your best friend right now (that and your DVR’d episodes of Grey’s Anatomy). Two hours of drinking and crying later, you realize it’s 10pm and Meredith and Derek are still fighting (Hint: they will eventually be together again forever until May sweeps; relax), but more importantly, you haven’t actually eaten anything yet, no place delivers anymore, and you are too much of a mess to be seen outside your apartment.
There’s nothing in the refrigerator except a half carton of eggs, some old cheese, and a pint of ice cream you were saving for a special occasion. Do I have to spell this out for you? Go on a diet. Why is it that the only food in your place is so fatty, Fatty?
Grab that nearly empty bottle of wine. You got red, right? There’s a rule, white in the light, red in the…night. Okay, so I just made that up, but stick with me here, I’m going somewhere with this. Pour those last dregs of red wine into a saucepan, what is that, like 4 ounces? Take out your sugar and toss in a couple handfuls. Yes handfuls. You’re too drunk to measure anything out right now, so just use your hands. That’s probably a good 1/4 cup, unless you have gorilla hands; in which case, I’m really sorry for you. Try not to cry into the pot as you turn the heat on to medium.
Go to your cabinet and pull out those spices from when you thought your apartment was haunted and your spiritual friend said it would be fun to do a cleansing so she brought over random shit and spices. Take a stick of cinnamon and break it into pieces, throw in a few cloves, and toss a star anise in for good measure. Does anise even come in any shape other than a star? You wish you had raspberries or peaches or even some frozen blueberries to add to the pot, but you were so negligent about having food in the house that there’s only the old cheese crossing your mind. You’re a pretty terrible person. Now go wash your face, you look like a mess.
Oh look, your wine and sugar is simmering nicely and your kitchen smells like the holidays. Hold it together while the memories of your boyfriend dumping you before Christmas because you weren’t “twee” enough—what the fuck does that even mean?—come flooding back. Go put on your pajamas, shit’s about to get real.
Okay, seriously? You take a really long time to do anything. Your wine has been simmering for like 20 minutes and you’ve only just washed your face and changed? Maybe Ken broke up with you because he was tired of waiting for you to get things done. Well fine, that’s what the ice cream is for. This patient has a cardiomyopathy and needs 100cc vanilla ice cream, stat!
Scoop it out into a wine glass, because you really only have yourself to impress, but you also secretly hope someone will see, so you have to keep it classy. Luckily you spent all that time making a wine sauce and not crying. You can turn off the heat now before anything burns down. Spoon the sauce over your ice cream, hit play on the DVR, commence crying.
