Offense

“You want to drink a red? Are you sure? You’ve been drinking Sauvignon lately. . . ? “

“Yes Pinot Please.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

I looked at him wondering why he was dissecting my simple response as to what type of wine I want to drink with dinner. Does he not think I know what I want? Can he see me the sweat accumulating on my palms? Do I really want to be here at dinner with him or with someone who can read my mind knowing I want red tonight. Now he’s got me questioning myself.

"Yes Pinot."

Do I know what I want? A simple question red or white. The taste of red and white and the way they swirl around the glass meshing with my entrée are as different as night and day. As are all the men I have dated.

My reds are strong clean men that are stable. They are the man’s man opting to go watch football or chop down a tree instead of attending Rea’s art opening with me. The reds are my challenges; they know how to handle my brassy edges. They go to work and breakdown corporate execs looking for their faults rationalizing how to win the deal. These are the GQ’s I have dated. Centered and self assured always sticking to the TO DO LIST and freaking out if you sidestep. They are stable and predictable.

If you pick a cabernet vine to early or late it will ruin the wine turning it into a marinade for cheap meat.

The whites are crisp, clean, adventurous, and aloof. The artists and marketers of my world painting me the big picture on canvas. Surprises of butterflies and honey suckles’ left on my door step with out a cause. Everyday is a new adventure and fun. Running around the city palm to palm vacationing everyday. They lack the serious side. But allow me/us to dream we can live on pennies and pickles sight seeing every day. Just writing that makes me want to be Paris Hilton. They lack a planning ability, it’s frustrating and occasionally down right rude. That’s the thing with white wine, put in the back of the fridge for weeks, months, years, when you’re ready to use it ‘LETS GO!’

In the weekend warrior world of bar hopping I am on the prowl searching. We are all searching for what? It’s a personal question weather you are looking for booty, friends, relationships, or to forget your problems. We search for the happy ending even if it is fleeting the moment it begins. We have to believe it’s out there. I know it exists and I used to think I knew what I wanted until this guy questioned my judgment. And now, I am still a little tipsy from the Pinot. It’s to late for laundry, for pie, for the bubble bath I have been longing, for saving a lost friendship I worry is doomed, for fixing my mis-citations, for drunk dialing my Mom and Dad . . . again, perhaps one more glass of wine. A meritage perhaps.

After rereading my entry seems a blush would be in order for the blend I am looking for. A dusted off bottle of red zin.