I think, when I buy the gigantic bottle (it’s a liter and a half) of cheap-but-not-embarrassing and still tasty dry rosé that is imported all the way from France, I think I’m being economical. Because it’s really two bottles in one and saves a leeetle bit of money and trips to the store and also – most importantly – saves me from the need to pop into a bar to have a glass of wine after work or on a Saturday evening, which is always far more expensive than even one large bottle. But what happens is that once it’s in the refrigerator the big bottle just seems the same as the small bottle and so I judge the level of remaining vs. consumed wine at the same rate even though it’s not and so on Friday night I start drinking wine at 6:15 or so once I’m home from work and changed into comfy clothes and if l take advantage of it being Friday and not having anything to do this weekend besides clean up my damn house and do a little grocery shopping by staying up late and finally watching the six episodes of “Key & Peele” that were stacked up on my DVR, as well as some “Bones” and “Say Yes To The Dress,” (NO SHAME! I LOVE SYTTD!!!), I drink too much wine and wake up with such a headache that I hate myself. I had to go back to bed for a couple of hours, because I was afraid I was going to throw up. I did not throw up. I also do not recognize this person who is so easily punished by an amount of alcohol that used to not faze her in the least. She’s either my new best friend because she’s going to save me lots of money, or she’s a sign of the inevitable slow steady decline into decrepitude that I am fighting so desperately against. Either way, no more wine this weekend. I ate some toast and an apple and now I’m going to go for a run. If I don’t wind up puking over the Steck overpass onto MoPac, I will feel lots better when I get back. Wish me luck.