Betty Says: That’s How Rumors Start

Be Careful When Answering the Door

No, it wasn't German monkey wine, but this is a better photo than shattered glass on tile.

No, it wasn’t German monkey wine, but this is a more interesting photo than one of shattered glass on tile.

It was last week, just an ordinary day. I had a mid-morning break between conference calls and finally got around to tossing the dinner into the crock pot. The recipe called for some alcohol, which is no big deal… unless you forget that you loosened the lid on the bottle and send it flying through the air when you try to pick it up.

It happened in slow motion, like grape juice in a paper towel ad. I swear that the bottle did at least a triple flip on its way down to the hard tile where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

Not only was there alcohol all over the kitchen, there was alcohol all over me.

And of course, at that moment, the doorbell rang.

Carrying a wad of paper towels and blotting my clothes, I went to the door and found my neighbor. She looked at me strangely, and then sniffed. “Have you… have you been drinking?”

I explained that I’d just had a bottle of liquor decide to take up Olympic diving, but she seemed unconvinced. I’m now certain that the rumor of my budding alcoholism spread to the rest of the neighborhood within the day.

So let this be a lesson to you: when covered in alcohol, smelling like a distillery, have the good sense not to open the front door.

Dinner, however, was delicious.

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