Having come to the conclusion that my hacking cough is beyond the reach of traditional medicine, I turned to spirits. Specifically I turned to St. Sylvester's punch, a wine-rum-orange-lemon mixture that packs both Vitamin C and a wallop. Brewed a batch, left the room for a moment, and Girl Weed poured it down the drain as she was doing the dishes before I even got a sip.
I laughed this off and brewed another batch. This time I did get a cup, which I drank last night during family movie night (Ninotchka, which washed the taste of Hobbit right out of my mouth). Just now, however, feeling that having a hacking cough, it being freezing and windy outside and it being the Feast of the Holy Family and the Christmas Octave were four fine reasons amply justifying an afternoon cocktail, I went down to discover that Mr. W. did the dishes and once again poured out St. Sylvester's handiwork.
Oh, there's egg nog left. But when you're hankering for something hot and lemony and find yourself deprived due to sudden puritanical impulses in your relatives, it's doubly disappointing.
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