Sometimes it’s stemware. Sometimes it’s a sippy cup.
One time I found a pop tart in my purse- no wrapper, with a bite taken out of it. You will never find me in a fancy ski lodge sipping an ‘87 Duckhorn in the company of investment bankers or sloshing organic Viognier in a goat yoga class. My Instagram is “meh” at best, and I can’t contour my makeup. I barely have time to write this introduction between my two kids, two dogs, and full-time job.
I’ve done the leg work: I’ve bought wine, sold wine, made wine and watched competent wine makers make wine. And I’ve done my homework: extensive reading, proper (occasionally improper) notes, worshiping Wine Folly, and asking the experts.
Let’s enjoy some wine together as real people who occasionally curse and don’t look like Vogue models. I raise my glass to all the busy moms, students, and damn-hard workers who burn the candle at both ends and the center until it’s just a puddle of scalding wax. And my glass, of course, has been poured far beyond the proper 6oz.
Cheers.
