- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 0
- 6
-
Sparkle (2)
About a month ago, Jake and I had dinner with two new couples we met recently. One of the couples is relatively new to town — he’s a economics professor and she’s studying to be a midwife. They’re Brits. To welcome them to our rural community, we brought them an 8-ounce jar of apricot moonshine. (Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea where this moonshine came from. It simply showed up on my front porch one day as if brought by Santa.)
The Brits were skeptical at first, which is to be expected when presented with a mini jar of something that resembles vibrant urine. She poured an eighth of an inch into her glass and took a cautious sip. The first thing she said was, ”It tastes like there’s no alcohol in it.” Actually, the first thing she said was, “It tastes like dish soap.” Then, “Is there any alcohol in it?”
I was almost taken aback by the question. For the past five years I’ve been clinging to the belief that living out here, away from shopping malls and Starbucks, away from Jamba Juice, was making me more self-sufficient and authentic. More real. I mean, I garden, I make deer jerky, I raise chickens, I’ve even canned chicken (and you don’t want to eat canned chicken, trust me), so — um, duh — of course I know where to get real moonshine.
“Does it have any alcohol in it?” I said. “Of course it has alcohol in it! It’s moonshine! It has so much alcohol in it I’m lowering the IQ of my unborn children right now.”
“Really?” She said skeptically. "Let's see if it will light."
Light, as in light with a match.
So we poured a little bit of the moonshine onto the front porch. I held my breath as she threw a lit match into the puddle of liquid. The match hissed and sent up a curl of smoke. It didn’t light. I looked at the puddle, then at Jake.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Maybe there was something wrong with the match?”
That night, as we drove home, I was very quiet.
“What?” Jake asked.
“We can’t even get moonshine right.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The moonshine. It didn’t light. It’s not moonshine. All this time, I’ve been passing myself off as a peddler of white lightening ... and it didn’t light. It didn’t light, Jake.”
If the moonshine didn’t light, who am I here?
