Even the liquor expires eventually

Everything in life has an expiration date

“Um, this is a strong breakfast, Brian,” I say walking into the kitchen at seven a.m.

“Yeah, the Bailey’s is solid,” I realize he’s not referring to a choice, but rather its consistency. He’s emptying the bottle in the sink. I look over his shoulder at the globby tan chunks gathering on the stainless steel sink. It’s throwing the odd smell of a dinner party into the Tuesday morning air.

“Holy cow! We have so much vodka,” I notice as I slide the bottles around on our well-loved navy kitchen table. My chest catches a bit as I remember it’s staying here with the house and not moving to Florida with us.

He drops the empty liqueur bottle in the recycling bin with a clunk. “We don’t even drink vodka.” He surveys the next bottle. The stress, the to-do lists, the packing. Just when we think we’re making headway, we open another jam-packed cabinet to sort. This morning it happens to be the liquor cabinet.

It’s my turn to wink at him. “Well, we could start!”

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