8.27.25: I Don’t Get Wine

I pretend to understand wine. Someone pours me a glass and I swirl it like I've got taste buds made of gold. "Earthy," I say, nodding thoughtfully. "With hints of... complexity." They beam like I just solved world hunger. Truth is, it tastes like grape juice that went to therapy. But there's something beautiful about the performance. The collective agreement to take fermented fruit this seriously. We're all just making it up as we go. Cheers to that, I guess. At least the buzz is real.