Wine-boxing.

You know as well as I do that eventually, you’re going to start buying your wine by the box. Don’t pretend you haven’t occasionally slowed down as you passed the boxes just adjacent to those giant bottles of wine in the back of liquor section of the grocery store. Don’t act like you haven’t noticed the absurdly low cost. Don’t try to deny that you haven’t noticed those articles that show up in respectable publications or heard Alpana Singh suggest that more and more often, they’re putting decent wine in boxes. And don’t go feigning surprise at the implication that you’ve been considering buying some of the stuff just as soon as you can figure out how to do it without sacrificing your self-respect. Fortunately for you, I am here to soften the blow, my self-respect having slipped into the shadows of retreat somewhere around the same time as the last significant film role for Theresa Russell. So I am here to help you through this inevitable transition. No one did that for me. But I’m doing it for you. That’s how I am. I am generous. I am thoughtful. I am sensitive to your needs.

What I am not exactly, is sober. I have not been altogether sober in probably two weeks. This is what happens when you buy your wine in a box. No one tells you that. But I will.

Here’s what happened: About two weeks ago I went to Target to purchase power tools and alcohol. After comparison shopping for drills and sanders, I headed over to the coffee and alcohol section. (Because at Target, they apparently organize the foodstuffs in aisles according groupings appropriate for categories on The One-Hundred-Thousand-Dollar Pyramid. This being the aisle identifiable as Foodstuffs That Directly Interfere with Normal Brain Functioning.) I have to admit, the wine selection is not at all bad for a discount store. They have most of your favorite really cheap wines from the grocery store. Plus they have there own line of box wines. The insidious part is that the wine boxes are available in smaller sizes than one might see in the grocery store liquor sections. That’s how they seduce you. With introductory sizes at a deeply discounted price. It’s not the big twelve dollar commitment it might be at the supermarket. It’s just a few bucks. Clearly, the people running the wine business for Target are the same ones who sold weed outside my junior high school.

So I hardly had to think about it. I bought myself a box—nay, a mere cube—at a cost equivalent to seventy-eight cents a bottle. Or something like that. As I said, I’m not entirely sober. I shouldn’t be relied upon for calculations.

I feared my neighbors would see me bringing it in, but I think I managed to scurry up to my apartment unnoticed, securing, perhaps, another week of avoiding their pitying sidelong glances. Yay.

It didn’t take long to figure out how to place and operate the spigot. You’ll figure that out fine by yourself What you may not realize—and it’s really important that you realize this—is that you will have no way of tracking how much wine you have consumed. I mean, unless you count the glasses—and who does that?—you will be unable to estimate the volume by which your wine box is diminished. This is more than an invitation to overimbibe. This is practically a demand. The box, you see, unlike the traditional bottle, is opaque. So there is no wine-line to tell you you’ve sucked up half a bottle before dinner’s even ready. It carries the illusion of an endless supply of (surprisingly tasty) wine. The box, is, in fact, merely the housing for a bag. And that bag is remarkably similar in texture and appearance to a mylar balloon. And as you know, the mylar balloon is practically a universal symbol of deceit. It is the customary means of seeming to have contributed something important while expending minimal effort and cash. (E.g., “Hey, it’s your birthday! Look what I got you! A balloon! Not just a balloon though—a mylar balloon! Did I go the extra mile, or what?!”

Don’t be entranced by the mylar illusion of the wine bag in the box, I implore you. It’s too late for me, but you can still save yourself.

Me? I was entranced. The box o’ wine had me mesmerized. As a consequence, I have made some significant errors in the past two weeks. These errors may have included but are not limited to:

Going to an organic food store and spending approximately seventy-two dollars on six dollars worth of vegetables from a be-mohawked young lady for whom, from what I can tell, organic foods have done nothing helpful.

Watching Tyra.

Pulling out the guitar that’s been in the closet for at least six years and calling up an ex-girlfriend to play the song written especially for her, not giving a second thought to the guitar being way out of tune, and not really knowing how to play a guitar.

Losing a large bottle of laundry detergent and at least two loads of laundry.

Watching Barack Obama’s press conference, noticing the lame, softball questions put to him by the press, and thinking at one point, “Ooooh, that young blond Republican girl on The View is certainly going to have something to say about that!”

You can avoid these errors. Circumvent the excessive boxed wine consumption problem by pouring yourself one big tumbler of wine and then cutting yourself off right there. If you’re like me, this will probably mean hiding the wine box somewhere that’s hard to reach when your equilibrium is compromised. Because after one big tumbler, you’re likely to change your mind and decide you want more. I suggest you put it up high. On the top shelf of a closet perhaps. That way, when you get out the ladder to try to get it, tipsy as you are, you’ll more than likely fall of the ladder and knock yourself unconscious, thereby cutting yourself off for the evening. When you wake up in a heap just inside your coat closet the next mid-morning, you’ll congratulate yourself for your temperance. Go, you!