I start off at my usual Saturday wine tasting. I don't feel any great need to have a wing man; I can find friends wherever I go, and I fly better solo, anyway. There's a gentleman there with his entourage. I remember him from a few weeks ago, and we spend the entire time reminiscing about the bad jokes we told last time we were together.
And drinking wine. Always drinking wine.
Then, later, I go to a grand tasting two miles from my house. I run into some people from the New Year's Eve Champagne Sword-Opening Extravaganza, and I run into a lot of people I have never met before. We share all kinds of conversation about the wines, about the tables, about the venue, about fighting our way into tables.
I wait in line for no one. No one.
I gather a bit of a following as it is obvious that I do not take no for an answer when approaching one of the six tables. Wait to be served? Ha! That's for amateurs. I even get back to two tables I already mastered.
Though I have a list of outstanding, relatively inexpensive wines in my possession, I have my eye on the real prize: The peach Bellini mix that I missed out on the last time I was here. And, I gained a huge list of wines that I really, really like, including a tropical mango Moscato that, at $15 a bottle, is to die for.
Sitting in the parking lot, I make sure I'm sober and can drive, especially since I'm traveling in a major traffic zone. Yup; I dumped enough, I deferred enough, and I ate enough before I left the house.
Full contact. And I'm damn good at it, if I do say so myself.
