I own a corkscrew. Two, actually. I wouldn't expect this information to shock anyone but me. The inner of the two features a sturdy plastic cap that, i imagine, keeps the whole utensil sharp and clean. It is one fine corkscrew. I think its been used twice in three years.

For months I have been terrified of the realization that I turn 30 later this year. Gone are all arguments about postponing adulthood or taking time to sort out my future - 30 represents a sharp decline in all things carefree or tinged with youthful stupidity. I'll hate it. But the discovery of the corkscrews in the back of a kitchen drawer last night brought it all home.

Time was, and it cannot be ten years ago, that the purchase of a bottle of relatively cheap wine indicated something HUGE was on the horizon, like the end of a semester or a one-month anniversary with a girlfriend (yes, there are guys who observe that kind of stuff. Stop and consider the potential rewards.) On such life-altering occasions, I was organized enough to get the card and/or flowers, frequently motivated enough to clean my living space, and once in a while was actually on-time for whatever the occasion.

Always I was armed with a bottle of wine, usually culled from the cellars of the nearby Schnuck's food store or the adjacent Osco Drug. But I was never, ever organized enough to remember that I did not own a corkscrew. You go to buy the wine and there are zillions of them hanging on pegs at eye level. Not once did I shell the $1.29 that would empower me to execute that one-handed "pop" that would lend an air of faux sophistication to an otherwise obviously pedestrian event.

Nope, there I would be, using clear plastic Solo Cups and a blanket from the back of my car to simulate a picnic, all on a noisy dorm floor. As if all that didn't wreck the willing suspension of disbelief, out would come the scissors, or other blunt metal object, to substitute for the missing corkscrew.

A single punching motion is really best. You have to peel off the metal cover first, of course, or you're sunk. Then divide the cork in half and ram part of it down into the bottle (delicious, huh?) and, ta-daa! Try to avoid any tiny cork pieces floating in your glass, as they leave a gritty aftertaste. Objects that will work as a corkscrew include: the aforementioned scissors; letter openers; standard screwdrivers. Objects that fail the corkscrew substitution test are: X-acto knives; Phillips screwdrivers; ALL pens.

Upon reflection, I hope I kept these embarrassing incidents to a minimum, and I can't imagine why I didn't just buy the corkscrew. How foolish, to be engaged in serial cork-butchery. Maybe -- and I'm not taking a firm position on this -- being 30 won't suck.

John Hedgecoth knows that you never got carded for buying wine at the Schnucks in Columbia, Mo.