I have forced myself to be a wine person over the past year.
My parents are not wine people. My turned-out-to-be-batshit-insane step-aunt was the only wine person in our family, until, well she left the family via batshit-insane methods.
For some reason, I associated wine with people who are grown up and successful. How am I going to hang out with my fancy educated friends and go to fancy educated dinner parties if I don’t like wine? What will I bring? Rum? It is delicious.
After stopping at the little kiosk at the front end of Loblaws a few times, one of the few non-LCBO ways to buy liquor in this over-regulated province, I finally decided I was a red wine person. Yes. White wine is gross. It stains less, but it’s gross.
It’s been a long journey of cringe-worthy beverages, but I think I’ve finally developed an actual taste for it. Yes! A small, useless success in a world of unfairness.
To be fair, I’m still at the point where my measure of taste is “does it make me gag or not?” but I’m getting there.
Simply a little window into the neurosis that invades my life.