Two encounters with white wine: one bad and one pretty good, considering.

January 20, 2012

Two years ago: you really didn’t like white wine and Darren knew this but he made you try it again anyway, saying it would really complement the brie and grapes and fancy fennel crisps which you had spent nearly all of your paychecks on for the picnic in your living room, where he said, “what a good picnic,” and tuned the radio to NPR so Garrison Keeler could help you act out your musings flawlessly and it was really nice, playing house, until you or he or both of you got upset about something you have honestly completely forgotten now and he ended up drinking the rest of that Pinot Grigio straight from the bottle while you watched and fumed and reminded him how much you hated white wine and when he tried to drive home you didn’t even stop him.

One year ago: you had just dropped out of college because you hated, absolutely, every inch of Los Angeles and decided instead that you’d rather drive cross country with your cat, but you weren’t sure how your Hyundai would fare in the Rockies so you took the 10 West through the South and fell stupidly in love with New Orleans and you didn’t want to leave but you had a job interview in Maine where you could work as a caregiver for the elderly and when you returned home you were hired and your first client resided at Village Crossings Assisted Living Facility and she wanted to see ‘The Wicked Good Band’ play live in the front room so you wheeled her upstairs and tapped your feet to Frank Sinatra covers in between Laura, 80, and Annette, 92, and Bob, age unknown, offered you a glass of white wine and asked you to dance and in that moment it tasted pretty good because life seemed too God damn surreal for you to care otherwise.


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