Letters from the Vineyard...

So there I was sitting on the outside looking in, staring in disbelief at the great bottle of wine my friends were about to open. Oh the injustice.  How can anyone in their right mind do such a tragic thing.  The wine was too young.  It would be impossible to understand her definition.  Did they not understand all of these years sitting with me and enjoying a glass of wine?  Did they not get the deliberate fascination that I have with a wine list?  My tears were rolling down the sleeve straight into the glass that held captive the youth of the vineyards.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if a bottle of wine could sit down behind a Mac and write you a letter.  It would start simple enough with an insulting adjective to describe what she really thought of you.  Disparaging?  Absolutely.  Why not?  For reasons unbeknown to us, we decide to desecrate even the most taboo of all things so why would a bottle of wine be any different?

Dear Genius,

I have decided to write these words that will hopefully find you sober after last nights beating that you had with Grays Peak Vodka.  Exactly who does that?  Why on God’s Earth would you drink yourself to oblivion?  Do you remember the comments you made to my friend Silver Oak?  She was not pleased.

Anyway, let me continue my utter disgust with your lack of civility with this program of mine.  When my parents mother Earth and the Sun decided to breed me they did in a meticulous manner that allowed me months to develop into something unique and special.  Through the winter days and nights I shivered at the thought that one day I would be perfect.

Then Spring came and I woke up from my hibernation and started to stretch my arms.  I felt like a tall drink of water, invincible.  Even weathered a late frost that shook the leaves off of my pants.  It would become a defining moment as I overheard my friend the Wine Maker say something to the effect that we needed that.  Not sure what he was talking about, I was still shivering and he was talking about cruel and unusual punishment.

Then my summer arrived.  I raised my arms to the sky and basked in the glory of her days and wrapped myself in the nights.  Most days were spent day dreaming about night things.  I could feel myself becoming more bountiful.  I could see the expression of my Wine Maker, he thought I was sexy.  I felt like there was no tomorrow.  

When time came and my Autumn arrived I was dressed for the biggest day of my life.  A handsome young lad came to escort me to my new home.  There it was the big dance, all my friends ripe and ready to explode out of their skins.  I had never seen such a collection of perfection.  As you can imagine my excitement was beyond words.  I allowed my self to bask in the glory of the moment.

I flowed gracefully to my new home.  From a distance she was immaculate.  How lucky was I to be a part of greatness, I was besides myself.  Then I heard my friend Mr. Wine Maker, yes he had accomplished much but he had turned me into a princess.  He turned my pumpkin into a carriage.  He was my hero then he said those magical words, “This is perfection, she will age gracefully, in ten years she will only begin to reach her potential.  When she is legal she will be perfect.”

My tears rushed into my new home.  What an unbelievable man to call me perfect and that I would only get better with time.  So what did this mean?  Was there an injustice if they wanted me earlier?  I was suddenly confused.  What was a woman to do?

Genius do you understand the dilemma you have created for me.  You make me want to cry and scream all at once.  I don’t want to offend you.  No!  I don’t want you to be afraid of my friends or for you to never truly understand the affection that I have for perfection.  Why?  Why would you open me before my time?  Why do you drink?  Oh my friend you have much to learn...

Sincerely 

The best bottle of wine you never had.

I stared at the glass my friends handed me and realized that life was too short for me to never speak the truth of what they had just done.  Would that make me one of them?  You know the one, the pompous arse who thinks he knows everything about wine?  The weight of the world was on my shoulders.  What was this man to do?  

Salut!