It only took one special bottle of wine to disappear from my cellar at home while I was at work one night.
Whitey claimed he didn’t know it was a “good” bottle before he had opened it, and then told me how delicious it was.
Not even a drop left.
So I found a sharpie and staked my claim, old school style.
Signs, signs, everywhere signs. Yet, now there’s no way he can polish off my Silver Oak without a fight.