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BY RANDY FITZGERALD
Barb and I usually like to spend our New Year’s Eve at home, just the two of us. That has become our personal tradition over the years, and very rarely do we ever go out and celebrate at a party or in a crowd.
In the days when we were younger and not taking so many meds, we’d make a good dent in a bottle or two of wine, but in recent years we’ve tried to obey our doctor’s edict and go light on the hard stuff.
This year, Barb went all the way in the other direction and purchased some sparkling cider for the occasion, which she had been chilling in the fridge well in advance of the holiday.
As midnight approached on New Year’s Eve, I volunteered to go down and get the apple cider. I retrieved the bottle from the refrigerator door, carefully selected two of our best wine glasses and put them on a tray, wrapped a nice linen napkin around the bottle, unscrewed the top, and went upstairs to join Barb and Anderson Cooper as the countdown began.
“Nine, eight, seven …”—and I, with a flourish, poured the amber liquid into our glasses and presented one to Barb, turning back to the screen to make sure I timed everything right.
At the stroke of midnight, I kissed my bride, we clicked our glasses together and wished each other love and health and brought the sparkling cider to our lips.
“PLEW-YY.”
“What the heck is this?” I asked, my mouth and nose reeling from the sour, biting taste of what I had thought was sparkling cider.
Barb, who had stopped just short of imbibing after noting the sharp smell emanating from her glass, was bent over laughing.
“You doofus,” she said. “You got the apple cider vinegar rather than the sparkling apple cider.”
So much for my romantic-guy credentials. All I can say in my defense is that the bottle I chose WAS the one with the apple on it.
Randy Fitzgerald teaches modern American literature at Virginia Union University. He was a longtime public relations director at the University of Richmond and columnist for the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
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