Thursday, April 26, 2012

w is for wine

A-Z CHALLENGE (hosted by a variety of writers) : April's task is to write something, anything using the letters of the alphabet as an inspiration for each post. In honor of one of my favorite authors, I will use Sue Grafton's title set-up: W is for... X is for... Y is for... (and so on.).

Yep, sixteen is the age I was when I learned wine just didn't work for me.

You see I vomited, threw up, barfed after an afternoon of overindulging in drinking wine. At the beach. Under the hot sun. With my sixteen year old friend.

We were having fun. Working on a tan.

Well, she was. I was working on a sunburn.

We were just lying there, on the Newport sand, on top of some colorful must have beach towels. Extra large. Lots of space.

We talked. We laughed. We drank. Wine. Red wine. Without much food.

My friend had a handle on it. Took it slow. Unlike me. I drank from that bottle as if I were drinking water. I didn't know that I should slow down. That I would pay a price later. All I knew was that I was feeling pretty cool. Drinking wine. Underage.

When the upchucking and the hangover finally left. Left me alone. To have headache-free days. I knew that was it. I would never drink wine again. Couldn't stand the smell, or the taste, of it.

And all these years later. I still hate the smell and taste of wine. Don't drink it. Not even when everyone else around me is enjoying a glass.

All because I foolishly drank way too much wine when I was sixteen.

Drank too much while simply having fun with my friend, at the beach, getting drunk.

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