Sour grapes

What I’m learning about myself is that twofold: I am cheap and I am petty. As these are not two traits I was hoping would be in my Fave 5 as I contemplate motherhood, I am holding on desperately to the belief that they are fleeting.

Trait The First: Man alive, but I hate opening a bottle of wine just to taste it and give (throw) it away! Hate the very notion of it! Abhor, detest and abominate! But what else is a spitter to do?

Trait The Second: Why should everyone else get to drink wine except me? Why should I tell people about neat wine without getting to drink it like everyone else? Why should I even bother reading about wine when I’m not going to be able to enjoy it? And while we’re on the subject, why can’t I eat soft, unpasteurized cheeses and sushi? This whole knocked-up scene sure has a lot of Don’ts involved. Maybe I am whining, but honestly now — wouldn’t you?

Poor pitiful me aside, I’m very irritated with wine and all the limitations it symbolizes for me right now. I’m not a big person, as it turns out, but rather a slave to my comforts… but they’ve sold me down the river, and along I float without a drop to drink.

Bah, humdinger.

Postscript: I wish I could say I’m missing a particular wine variety or region, but really I miss a nice big glass of it.  Food-wise, what mostly doesn’t make me want to hork these days is sour food.  I am gestating a Sour Patch Kid, it seems.

Less wailing next time, gentle reader, I promise.

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