Being the big, strapping, white-girl-of-Scottish-ancestry that I am, I like to think that I can hold my liquor. And I can, actually. I befriended the giant of a man (♥ you Stef) who eventually introduced me to my husband by drinking him under the table at a frosh week event many, many years ago. Many. Holy smokes am I old.
The problem is that I don’t LOOK like I can. After two sips of any alcoholic beverage, I become very flushed in the face and my skin elsewhere, especially on my chest and neck, goes all blotchy. I look like I’m three sheets to the wind and no one will take me seriously. Turns out I’m allergic to alcohol. I still enjoy beer and spirits in moderation, but I’ve had to eschew wine completely, as, not only does it make me crazy red and blotchy, but it makes me ITCHY, too.
The Pie is more of a beer man, so he’s not too fussed about giving up wine, though we keep a few bottles on hand for our more discerning guests, those who don’t feel like burping hops all night.
But we have this nifty folding wine rack that Cait gave us when we first moved in together many years ago (again with the many), and it seems a shame not to use it. In addition, our dining room closet houses not only our table linens, candles, and such, but our various tools and also our board game collection. So it’s a mite full.
You could always shove other things in there, too, y’know. Your blueprint collection, perhaps. Ships in bottles. Large kitchen utensils that don’t fit in your drawers. Very small children. If you have many of them. Anything is possible.