I feel like I’m going to get my mom card revoked any day now; maybe even my adult woman card. The elixir of sanity that seemingly every mom relies on does nothing for me.
That’s right, I hate wine.
No way, Rose. Pi-NOt. Mer-Hell-No. Sauvignon Bleh. Nay, Cabaret. You bet your a$$ I hate Shiraz. Ok, Ok. I’ll stop.
Did I miss the initiation into the fermented grapes club? Did it get lost in the mail? I want in the club, but no matter how hard I try, my tongue hits the reject button.
It seems to be the key to functioning as an adult. Had a hard day? Wine. Want to celebrate? Wine. Unsure of what Christmas gift to give to that professional friend? Wine. Bringing a gift to a host or hostess? Wine. Kids? Wine, absolutely wine.
Is there a magical age or time period after college where one moves from cheap beer and hard liquor to being a wine lover? Congratulations! It’s your 24th birthday and your gift from the universe is the appreciation for mankind’s most treasured beverage.
It’s literally loved the world over, by everyone except me. Jesus, I’m suuuuuper impressed that you turned that water into wine, but nah, I’m good. Hard pass.
Why does my palate continue to deny this miraculous substance?
Instead, I come off like a frat guy in a dress. Nothing says I AM A CLASSY LADY quite like the perfume of Jack Daniels spilled on the front of my cocktail dress while I back that azz up.
My taste in beer is pretty sophisticated. But nobody cares about that when you’re at a fundraiser, and you’re the only woman walking around with whatever beer option is available because you’d rather drink a Bud Light than choke down a glass of whatever red or white is on hand. Bartenders look at me with pity and offer a glass to put my beer in. I get even stranger looks at small gatherings for opting to drink nothing versus wasting a glass of wine. People dig in their husband’s beer stash for me so I’m not the only one forgoing a drink at book club or a get-together. When I find a fellow mom who loves a good oatmeal coffee stout as much as I do, I want to hug her and keep her in my pocket … in the least creepy of ways.
Hello From the Outside, I Must’ve Tried a Thousand Wines
Cab, Shiraz, Pinot Noir [Roseanne Barr*]? They all taste like pickled feet with a chaser of rubbing alcohol to me. If you served me a glass of two-buck-Chuck or a glass of a $64 bottle of wine, I wouldn’t know the difference because it all tastes the same. Several times, I’ve cracked open a bottle of something my husband had been given as a Christmas gift to cook the perfect Beef Bourguignon or Coq Au Vin, only to find out I just used a reeeeally nice bottle of wine to de-glaze a pan.
Not all is lost, I guess. I can tolerate a glass of riesling if I’m truly in dire straits. Champagne is ok, but tricks me into thinking I’m not feeling any sort of buzz until all of a sudden I realize I’m hammered, and the hangover I get is never worth the price.
Middle school feelings of wanting to fit in die hard. Will I ever get to be a “cool mom” if I don’t drink wine? How else can I unwind after a day of just barely refraining from selling my kids to the circus? What do I drink on my couch while binge-watching the OA on Netflix? How will I bond with my internet friends who express empathy for a hard day if they can’t say “sending wine” to me?
So many questions I’ll never know the answer to. So many wine pun t-shirts I’ll never get to wear. So many cute wine glasses sitting on my shelf collecting dust.
*The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Episode 6. Look it up and thank me later.