Ah, Old Money. My money tends to be about as old as my last pay day.
I can occasionally enjoy white wine, in fact I’ve grown fairly fond of it mixed with lemonade.
(…I drink a lot of what people might consider to be fairly girly drinks.)
But red wine is just poison. Nightmare juice. Plus, it dyes my lips and gums, and along with my natural midwinter pallour it makes me look like a goth. Goths are alright, but the sets of “occasions when I might drink red wine” and “occasions where it’s alright to look like a Goth” have no overlaps I’m aware of.
Ah, Old Money. My money tends to be about as old as my last pay day.
I can occasionally enjoy white wine, in fact I’ve grown fairly fond of it mixed with lemonade.
(…I drink a lot of what people might consider to be fairly girly drinks.)
But red wine is just poison. Nightmare juice. Plus, it dyes my lips and gums, and along with my natural midwinter pallour it makes me look like a goth. Goths are alright, but the sets of “occasions when I might drink red wine” and “occasions where it’s alright to look like a Goth” have no overlaps I’m aware of.
Not a wine person, and trust me, when I lived in the Napa Valley, it made me the object of much slack-jawed gazing. SO MANY people are allergic to the sulfites and tannins break out, go all red-nosed and woozy — but will just KEEP trying to drink it, and look like Class, Culture and Old Money. I know I’m not that, so I give up!
Not a wine person, and trust me, when I lived in the Napa Valley, it made me the object of much slack-jawed gazing. SO MANY people are allergic to the sulfites and tannins break out, go all red-nosed and woozy — but will just KEEP trying to drink it, and look like Class, Culture and Old Money. I know I’m not that, so I give up!
Not a wine person then! I’m not. Wine kills me. Every year or so I think, “I’ll give it a chance, maybe it’s better now.” And for a while it’s okay, and I wonder why I was ever so hard on wine. Then the next morning comes, and I remember why, though the thought comes slow and dim through shriveled frontal lobes.
Not a wine person then! I’m not. Wine kills me. Every year or so I think, “I’ll give it a chance, maybe it’s better now.” And for a while it’s okay, and I wonder why I was ever so hard on wine. Then the next morning comes, and I remember why, though the thought comes slow and dim through shriveled frontal lobes.
Ah, Old Money. My money tends to be about as old as my last pay day.
I can occasionally enjoy white wine, in fact I’ve grown fairly fond of it mixed with lemonade.
(…I drink a lot of what people might consider to be fairly girly drinks.)
But red wine is just poison. Nightmare juice. Plus, it dyes my lips and gums, and along with my natural midwinter pallour it makes me look like a goth. Goths are alright, but the sets of “occasions when I might drink red wine” and “occasions where it’s alright to look like a Goth” have no overlaps I’m aware of.
Ah, Old Money. My money tends to be about as old as my last pay day.
I can occasionally enjoy white wine, in fact I’ve grown fairly fond of it mixed with lemonade.
(…I drink a lot of what people might consider to be fairly girly drinks.)
But red wine is just poison. Nightmare juice. Plus, it dyes my lips and gums, and along with my natural midwinter pallour it makes me look like a goth. Goths are alright, but the sets of “occasions when I might drink red wine” and “occasions where it’s alright to look like a Goth” have no overlaps I’m aware of.
Not a wine person, and trust me, when I lived in the Napa Valley, it made me the object of much slack-jawed gazing. SO MANY people are allergic to the sulfites and tannins break out, go all red-nosed and woozy — but will just KEEP trying to drink it, and look like Class, Culture and Old Money. I know I’m not that, so I give up!
Not a wine person, and trust me, when I lived in the Napa Valley, it made me the object of much slack-jawed gazing. SO MANY people are allergic to the sulfites and tannins break out, go all red-nosed and woozy — but will just KEEP trying to drink it, and look like Class, Culture and Old Money. I know I’m not that, so I give up!
Not a wine person then! I’m not. Wine kills me. Every year or so I think, “I’ll give it a chance, maybe it’s better now.” And for a while it’s okay, and I wonder why I was ever so hard on wine. Then the next morning comes, and I remember why, though the thought comes slow and dim through shriveled frontal lobes.
Not a wine person then! I’m not. Wine kills me. Every year or so I think, “I’ll give it a chance, maybe it’s better now.” And for a while it’s okay, and I wonder why I was ever so hard on wine. Then the next morning comes, and I remember why, though the thought comes slow and dim through shriveled frontal lobes.