[Vintage dashiki + Current/Elliott Elephant bell jeans + Alex and Ani hoops]
Where I can usually be found: on my tuffet by the fire, laptop open, glass of wine and Eli present and close by.
Dig this vintage dashiki I found on etsy. I have a long, red dashiki caftan but Rob temporarily turned me from it: he found it in my closet back in FL when I was in the bathroom, and I walked back into the bedroom to find him wearing it, unzipped just so, chest hair creeping out the neckline. It fit him perfectly.
So, the dashiki and me: a match made in smelly, stained separates’ heaven.
This wine and me: we had a shakier start.
It’d been in the fridge with only a half-glass missing, leftover from the VT weekend. Open bottles don’t last long around these here parts, but for some reason whenever I opened the fridge and saw it in there, a slight nausea tinkled around my chest like Oscar the Grouch was in there playing the xylophone on my ribcage. Oscar, baby, mezzo forte.
I was sitting on the counter watching Rob pour a beer (after refusing one of my own), making barely audible whining sounds.
Why don’t you just have a glass of Riesling?
GOD, NO. I’ve had that kind before.
You didn’t like it, I take it?
Nah, it was alright… (eyes glaze over)… it was 2003, the Fourth of July, Charleston, SC—I drank an entire bottle… and vomited for 2 days.
So that’s why you haven’t touched this! I knew something was amiss.
What, as in, how could I possibly leave an open bottle of wine untouched for more than an hour?
I suppose it was a little unprecedented. I’d recounted the same anecdote to Casey while in Vermont, who replied, “Sounds pretty par for the course for you.”
There’s still some in there, if you’d like a nip.
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