A Full-Bodied Wine

As he sniffed at the glass of wine, she couldn’t help thinking what a pompous bastard he had been all these years.

“Yes, a wonderful bouquet,” murmured Charles. “I can almost detect notes of a fresh Pacific breeze caressing the slopes of a sun-drenched Californian hillside. Quite delicious, what?”

Margaret took a large gulp from her glass, and slurred, “It’s just wine to me, Charles.”

He sighed. “You’re quite the philistine, Margaret. If you sipped and appreciated it a bit more, then maybe you’d not be a raging alcoholic these days. You should savour such a beautiful Zinfandel.”

“And if you hadn’t been a wayward husband with all your illicit liaisons, then maybe I wouldn’t have turned to drink.”

“You’re paranoid.  But look at the state of you, it’s enough to make a man look at others.”

Margaret cackled, her laughter almost hysterical. “You always preferred boys, Charles, long before we ever married. I was just a convenient cover for your political aspirations.”

“But haven’t I kept you in a lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to all these years?”

“But a fifteen-year-old boy in a grubby toilet cubicle in Euston station, Charles?”

“The press can’t prove it.  It’ll blow over and will all be forgotten in a few weeks.”

“I won’t have forgotten,” hissed Margaret.

She snatched up the wine bottle and smashed it against the table.

“What the hell. You’ve gone totally bonkers now!”

She lunged at him and plunged the broken bottle into his throat. “Full-bodied enough, Charles?”

My daily micro fictions are no longer than 250 words and are inspired by word-of-the-day at www.dictionary.com

The word of the day for 27 November 2022 was “Zinfandel.”

All stories © 2022, DBA Lehane. All rights reserved. Please do not use or reproduce in any way without the expressed written permission of the author. Please contact me.

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