As if he should have had it scrawled on his palm. Still, it was, to some people, a major event. He was much like his cousin in that respect. Dates meant very little to him, most of all the ones concerning himself.
"Oh, well..."
Where to go from here?
"I need more wine."
Perfect. He clapped his hands together and slipped from his stool. Feet felt easier than he thought they would. Some nights you could throw back the bottles like a devil and some nights you'd wobble after only ten. But tonight his rhythm was right and he felt energetic. A bit chilly despite his fur collared knit, but bright.
Off into the shelves he went, bringing a small candle with him. He knew what section he was headed for, where the bottles were a dark emerald green.
"...bit dry..." he could be heard mumbling to himself. He didn't have a palate as discerning as the monks, but he'd accidentally learned a thing or two.
"Alright here," he said. He appeared rather suddenly behind her. And then there was a loud bang, almost deafening. Pop! The cork bounced off a wall and went out into the dark, tumbling end over brown end.
He set the bottle of bubbling wine down in front of her and reclaimed his perch.