Last night I was invited to an extended family dinner at my in-laws' house. As usual, I was in the kitchen bragging about my culinary prowess and offering my help. As usual, I was given a task that would get me out of the kitchen.
"Go downstairs and pick out a few bottles of wine," said my mother-in-law.
There were many, many bottles of wine to choose from which, of course, was the purpose of the task. Since a family friend owns a liquor store, the basement is full of fine wines and some eccentric selections that were gifts from previous gatherings.
I brought my selections to the dinner table: a rose, a white, and a bottle of peach-flavored wine that I found in the back somewhere. I pretended not to notice the quizzical glances and raised eyebrows as I added ice to my peach wine and remarked that it was very easy to drink.
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