She: You know how some people are wine snobs?

Z: Only the very best people, lovey.

She: After wine tasting last weekend, I think we’re more like wine slobs.

Z: So much. I barely even got a buzz off that $50 wine. If I’m paying that much, it better get me extra hammered. Even Albert only got slightly more gregarious than he normally does.

She: Usually I’m such a goal-oriented drinker. If I don’t get at least a little warm and fuzzy inside when I’m drinking then it’s not worth the calories. But with wine tasting it’s all about sipping.

Z: Sipping without dripping. I know that’s a challenge for you.

She: True — even without the buzz. I think that’s why we all wore black shirts.

Z: And what’s up with aerating the wine? It’s just a sip, and if I have to wait to let it breathe then Albert will eat all of the free bread.

She: He’s just trying to get his money’s worth. I completely understand. As much as I enjoy drinking wine, I don’t enjoy drinking the good stuff 10 times more than I enjoy drinking the “just fine” stuff from Trader Joe’s.

Z: I guess that means your palate is immature, Bozo. Unlike your husband.

She: Don’t you mean my palate is juvenile, a bit unripe, like the dark before the dawn, childish, infantile and rather babyish, with a hint of Desitin Diaper Rash Treatment and a Johnson’s Baby Shampoo finish?

Z: Wow. You’re like a mind reader.

She: My favorite thing about wine tasting is all the adjectives. Winespeak is so much fun.

Z: I prefer Winedrink.

She: Now it’s your turn to ferment a nicely structured, lightly acidic addition to the wine dialogue, honey.

Z: I’ve got one that’s extra snobby. I saw it at a museum yesterday, so it seems very timely.

She: Were you playing the violin at the same time?

Z: It’s from the artist Joseph Grigely. He’s deaf, and oftentimes when he can’t lip-read someone, they’ll write him a note. He collects all the notes, and makes collages out of them.

She: Sounds like what you do when you “listen” to people.

Z: One of the notes said only this: (sic) “In a year and a half it will drink devinely. It’s tight right now and a little dumb.”

She: How does this conversation keep coming back to Albert?

Z: Doesn’t the very phrase “wine snob” seem redundant?

She: Exactly. I never knew that “a top note of smelly sweat sock left in the rain” could actually be a selling point for wine.

Z: Or the idea that “a healthy dose of barnyard funk adds a wonderful earthiness to the aroma” was supposed to be a good thing.

She: And is “malolactic fermentation” really supposed to sound appetizing? I like the ripe, luscious, full-bodied wine descriptions.

Z: “It’s a cross between the booming orchestras of Zeus’ lightning and the winged freedom of the majestic Red Breasted Warbler. It’s Thunderbird.”

She: Your wit is as invigorating and sparkling as a vintage Taittinger, only less expensive and it doesn’t tickle my nose, just my funny bone.

Z: My favorite description was a “delightfully cynical, barrel-aged, full bodied wine with distinct chlorine, Raisin Bran and beer aromas. A good blend of caustic humor and with a hint of sweetness.”

She: Add in “bracingly tall and proud of it” and you could be describing yourself.

Z: Yes, dear.

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