I know that it will come as a shock to you all to learn that I like wine. I don’t spend a lot of money on individual bottles so I by no means consider myself a connoisseur or wine snob — there are plenty of varieties that I enjoy in the $10-$20 range, although every now and then something pricier ends up in my bar cabinet.
For around five years, there has been a bottle of Cotes du Rhone that, for whatever reason, I thought was a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. Do I remember who bought it or when? Nope. Why I thought it was a nicer vintage? Not at all. I don’t know what gave me the impression of its value, but for however many years, it has sat in an evolving number of wine racks as I waited for a “proper occasion”. No, I don’t know what that means either.
So however many times over the years when I wanted a glass of wine and looked into the cabinet to evaluate my beverage options, every time I saw this bottle I told myself no, wait for at least a home cooked meal. Something a bit more special than drinking it on the couch, in yoga pants, while eating a frozen dinner and watching reruns of Friends.
Last night, I noticed that my wine cabinet is sadly, horrifyingly bare. As I took stock of my selection and contemplated what would best complement my dinner of cashews and almonds (don’t judge), I saw the bottle and realized I was tired of seeing it sitting there, covered in dust. It was time to enjoy it — and after all, my week has been phenomenal for a million reasons, professionally and personally. Why not treat myself to some fabulous wine?
As I opened the bottle and began to pour it into my glass, I noticed there was a price tag attached to the bottle. oooooooooooooooh, how much could it be worth?
Yes, dear readers, I have been holding out on a $12 bottle of wine, saving it for a “special occasion”.
This ridiculous reality (with soooo many corresponding metaphors for my real life) got me to thinking about a number of things. First, why did I hold off on enjoying the perceived fabulous bottle on my own for no occasion whatsoever? Can I really look back and recall a “special” bottle of wine that made an experience so much better that it would have been with a bottle of Stump Jump?
I’m embarrassed. Especially as, guess what? The wine was actually really, really good! Yay for $12 bottles, and boo for yet another example of misguided expectations.
From now on, I vow to drink the “ridiculously expensive special occasion beverages” on the random days where I’m unshowered, on my couch, with nothing to celebrate but my (probably forgotten and ignored) everyday fabulousness. I also vow to take this same attitude and approach when it comes to selecting an outfit: my clothes, jewelry, accessories — what’s wrong with wearing a sequined tunic to do a little grocery shopping?
Here’s the thing. When you have ridiculous expectations, inevitably you end up disappointed. So fuck that. Tonight, I’m wearing my tiara out on the town. Why?
Why the hell not?????