A couple weeks ago I had a bunch of friends over for my birthday, you might remember me briefly mentioning my birthday here, oh, about 22,000 times. My roommate from last year, because she is so awesome, gave me a great big bottle of Chimay to drink while we played some drunken board games, and even bought me a Chimay glass so I could be one of the cool kids.
As many of you know, Chimay, besides being one of only 6 beers actually allowed to be called "Trappist", and being the most fabulous beer I have ever tasted, comes with a cork. Not the small bottles, but the big ones...they all come with a cork, and that is essential to my story.
When I popped the cork on my bottle of Chimay at my birthday party, I was pretty sure I remembered retrieving it and throwing it away, but, let's face it, I was kinda tipsy, so that may or may not have happened. And, as most of you know, corks are light brown. However, most of you probably don't know that my carpet is also light brown. So, imagine my surprise when, as I was cleaning house this weekend I discovered said cork laying on the carpet against the wall in the entrance to my bedroom. This seemed entirely plausible because my kitchen entrance is almost directly across a short little hallway from my bedroom entrance.
Since I am the laziest person on the planet, I simply observed the cork on the floor and thought to myself, "Huh, I should pick that up." But I didn't. Every time I walked by I would see it laying there and think about picking it up, and then convince myself I was going to vacuum "soon" and that I would pick it up before I vacuumed.
Last night, in a fit of productivity, three days after initially spying the wayward cork, I bent over and picked it up. And guess what?
It wasn't a cork.
It was a tater tot.
I did, in fact, eat tater tots this weekend, however, I have no idea how one ended up in my room...it must have rolled off the plate while I was carrying it.
I feel so betrayed. Tater tots are like the leaf bug of the bottle stopping world. So cunning and deceptive.
