I love the way red wine makes me feel. Rosy cheeks, the giggles, warm liquid in my toes and in my head. It’s always wine’s fault when I’m uppity. It’s always wines fault when I have something to say. Something wise, funny, thoughtful and sad. Red wine is ancient and the nectar of the gods.
Just, please, don’t drink the stuff on a date. You’ll stain your teeth a light pink with random chunks of ruby, and your lips will have an inner red mustache. Picture something the opposite of a Kool-Aid mustache.
You’ll be sitting there thinking you’ve regaled her with tales of wonder, personal income and psychical strength, but really you will be horrifying her with your blood stained zombie face. And your bad breath.
Try a nice Pinot Noir. Or vodka. Or beer, you pussy
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