She kept watching the clock. Every lost minute was a lost grape. Licking her lips she imagined what the first sip might be like, the tingles that would warm her ankles. The clock still showed a vast majority of sobriety left in the day and her child challenged each minute in his defiance of good behaviour. He was provoking her spirit. Little did he know he was going to be put to bed two hours earlier than usual and the first glass would be in salute of her sneaky victory.
She would have the last laugh.