Clearly, there was only one sensible response: drink it.
What began as the end of the cleanup rapidly became an impromptu party, as innocent passers-by were dragged in and offered wine. (Truthfully, very little arm-twisting seemed necessary.) Someone remembered the huge tray of apple pizza from Saturday's banquet still in the fridge, so Anna went and got a plateful. Ben found one of five cans of whipped cream he'd bought for Friday night's event, and I remembered the strawberries and cheese he'd given me--again, remnants from Friday--and Katherine retrieved a gift basket she'd recently recieved. Finally, Chris emerged with a pumpkin pie.
It was a merry gathering made all the more enjoyable because it seemed the guests and refreshments had been conjured from thin air.
The reds had been exhausted and we'd made excellent progress through the rose, with only the whites remaining, when Katherine observed that it had, for the last 20 minutes, been St. Crispin's Day.
So, in honor of the day, and the brave souls who'd tried valiantly to honor it in the traditional fashion on Saturday night, we raised a toast.
"To St. Crispin's Day!" we cheered.
A fine end indeed to an excellent weekend.