Some may know that I post reviews on Yelp as Novato A. I am including this review because thought it was amusing and hope you feel the same. Mr. Grumpy is Tim's chosen name for himself. He is also known as my stylist and the Huzby.
Here we go:
When Mr. Grumpy feels he's been seeing WAY too much of me in my gardening attire (I'm an unshowered vision of filth in an oversized hat, mud-spotted sweats or shorts, grimy flip flops, soil-encrusted gloves, with earthy swipes on my face that have me looking like a destitute potato farmer.) he feels the need to have me scrub down and spruce up. Apparently there's only so much seeing your wife as a dirt farmer a man can tolerate. So every now and then--about once a month--I fulfill my wifely duty by donning my stylist-chosen Barbie clothes, slipping into some short-distance only high heels, slapping on some mascara and off we go to Domaine Carneros.
DC is a quick and pretty 25 minute drive from our house. Once there, and seated in the members only section (Why, yes, as a matter of fact, we are members.) with a glass of complimentary bubbly it's easy to forget about all the things that are nagging you for attention at home. Your son's college applications and entrance essays, the dogs waiting impatiently for you in the study and wondering what that nice wood arm on the futon tastes like, the newly planted foliage that's cooking to a crisp in the hot sun, the 3 full laundry baskets that aren't getting any cleaner because you forgot to put a load in before you left, looking for a new job because if you get too comfortable in your recently unemployed state it's going to be that much harder putting on the yoke and getting back on track--you know, the usual annoyances that get in the way of life except that is seems that's what life's all about sometimes--doesn't it? Anyway...You don't think about that stuff.
You think about the beautiful view. You think about the lovely sparkling wine or perhaps the wondrous Pinot Noir single clone you are privileged to be sipping. You think about how lucky you are to live so close to wine country and to have a husband who joins wine clubs and has decided Domaine Carneros will suffice to undo the blighted vision you provide in your gardening togs. You think about the fact that you're hungry and could have a delicious light lunch of the salmon plate or the cheese plate or both since there are, after all, two of you here. You think about how nice the weather is. You think it's a good thing the Huzby is driving back and not you because--whew!--you're feeling a wee bit buzzed right at the moment. You think it'll be nice to come back in about a month and do it all again.
Yup. And then when you get home instead of getting a load of laundry going, checking the job listings, watering your plantlings, nagging your son who's not around anyway because he's bagging groceries at Lucky, you decide you might just lie down for a bit of a nap. But before you do that, you definitely let the dogs out of the study because you don't want to have to replace yet, another arm on the futon.
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