We just finished a culture marathon of Verdi’s Requiem, Cosi fan tutti, and Don Pasquale. True to my nature, I fell asleep in all three. This time I was impeded by allergy medication. It was the opposite of ‘have your cake and eat it”: I had all the side effects of antihistamines but hardly and of the benefit. My eyes look like cherry tomatoes.


This afternoon Someone volunteers at a community-theatre box office, which leaves me “home alone” with not much to do (given the allergies from hell).  I decided I will go shopping if only for some pollen-free air. The wine cellar is bereft other than some expensive stuff kept for special occasions which never happen. Total Wine is calling my name.




When I go to Total Wine with Someone the shopping is quicker, more organized, and far less expensive. Unsupervised, I flit around the store, distracted by shiny objects and fancy labels. I like to schmooze with the salesmen* to hear their recommendations. There is always the chance I am being sold the wine equivalent of “Summer Rain”, but overall they seem to know their stuff. Wine-buffs are like bookworms: they have favorites that they want others to experience.


Today’s depraved gay shopping agenda is ‘Table wine’ especially whites. Someone likes Gewurtztraminer; I like Pino Grigio. We both enjoy Riesling (but not too sweet) and Sauvignon Blancs from NZ (of which there is plenty). Thanks to experience (and a subscription to The Wine Spectator) I have a good sense of what I want to purchase. However, there is always impulse buying.  We have a ‘wine journal’ to remind us what we thought lovely and what was rubbish, but I am not good at keeping it.  Our tastes in wine illustrate our proclivities:  Someone likes to get what he knows and likes while Urs Truly is always out for the new and adventuresome.
There is a red varietal from Chile called Carmenere. This would be fun to try.  Funny grapes are always good for supper invite.  Carmenere_Merlot


The grand finale of this splurge is going to the scotch/whisky/bourbon department to see if they have any from my ‘Whiskies to try” list.  I can justify the white wine purchases but not another bottle of brown; this could evoke a recreation seen in Flip Wilson’s “The devil made me buy this dress”.   Since he won’t be there, I will just slip in a bottle of bourbon among the wines.

Chances are he won’t notice – unless he scrutinizes the bill.

“Say, what kind of white wine is “Monkey Shoulder”?”   




*The ones either knowledgeable or handsome.