Placing Blame on Minimal Pain

Whenever I've undergone dental work, I get excessive in my impulses.

It's rooted in the giant filling that accounts for most of my upper left molar. The decay came close to the nerve and the tooth, almost seventy percent silver, is destined for a crown. After the Novocaine's bliss faded, the sharp pain started, intent on a long stay.

Six months after the Gentle Dentist went a'drillin', the nerve still fired rhythmically whenever I ate, drank, breathed deeply, coughed or breathed normally.

Since then, I expect every filling to nag for months, and they've only given me token pain for a few hours.

Last night's indulgence came at the wine & spirits store. I've been avoiding the wheat and barley in favor of a nightly glass of the grape, and thought to restock my little wine rack. It had a few too many vintage bottles of Trader Joe's Two Buck Chuck ($3.37 Chuck for the Ohioans out there).

I'd found a nice primitivo and was looking for a second bottle when I found this pinot noir. Then I noticed the price tag and put it back down.

Then I picked it up again, with those excessive impulses now in the driver's seat. With a name like that, the vineyard had to produce exquisite vintages. For $40 a bottle - about 4 times my usual price limit for wine - it damn well better.

I hemmed, hawed and eventually brought it to the counter. Excess won again.

But excess and the well-named pinot noir will sit for a special occasion.

I can't empty such a bottle listening to Calexico and teasing the cat with a laser pointer.