We've been friends for over 20 years, and you pull that shenanigan on me? Really? You were around but not directly involved in most of my drinking days, and you know that I haven't had any liquor since March 1997—staying sober through the loss of my parents, promotions, demotions, and all manner of life in between. There were times I wanted so badly to jump back into that bottle but didn't. You know all of that. But because you are a twisted fuck, you poked at me.

"I'll make dinner!" you offered, kindly. And you did, and it was great. Including the caramels and sorbet. I only ate a small amount of the sorbet because you know I am diabetic and cannot eat the caramels.

"This is so good and rich!" I commented. "Tastes like port, almost."

Last night, a week later, in a conversation, you commented that you had read the ingredients of the container and saw that the sorbet had cabernet in it.

Why even tell me? You must have read the container before serving it to me. The way you told me about it was as if you knew all along. Don't look for me to be in the next 20 years of your life, you sick fuck.