I wasn’t going to say anything, but …

When I returned home from grocery shopping Saturday afternoon, Greg helped me unpack everything. I had purchased a bottle of red wine vinegar — choosing the more expensive of the brands because it’s something I so rarely buy — and Greg had set the bottle on the edge of the counter. Instead of putting the bottle in the pantry immediately, he continued grabbing other items that were sitting behind the bottle. As he reached for some fruit, he knocked into the bottle and it started to wobble. I saw this and recognized what was about to happen, but then I thought, no, that won’t really happen. It did.

If there’s anything worse than breaking a bottle of vinegar all over your kitchen floor, it’s breaking a bottle of red wine vinegar, because it leaves pink stains on your clothing.

I had no intention of writing about this incident because I knew Greg felt like a goof already. So why am I writing about it? Because Sunday morning, as Greg set the table for breakfast, he dropped our pepper shaker on the floor. More breakage. I’m running out of scented candles here.

Now, Greg is only allowed to drink out of plastic sippy cups and eat from paper plates.