If you’re wondering how to drink me, the answer is room temp in a common cup. No frills. No crystal! I don’t need room in the fridge — I’m comfy on the counter. If you care about your counter, wrap me in a paper towel so I don’t stain it. I can get a little messy.

Oh and please, dear lord, don’t buy a “decanter” or whatever it’s called just for me. All you need is a corkscrew and a cup. Enjoy me as I am. I’ll get the job done.


Listen. You don’t drink me. I drink you. I’m speaking metaphorically, of course, but you can’t do anything about it. You’re going to serve me and that’s the end of it. You can share me if you’d like. I’m strong and you might not be able to handle my greatness all at once.

I know what you’re thinking — “Wow. It’s rare to meet a bottle with such confidence, and at the top of its game.” Indeed, I’ve fought hard to get here. I’ve earned my way from grape to glass. Go ahead. Have a taste.


You look like you could use a bottle of wine, so here I am. I’m here completely and only for you. You can whine if you want. I’ll try to console you. Or you can just cry. That’s cool. I’m made for quaffing.

Life can be a pain. Trust me, I know. I’ve been stepped on — walked all over, in fact. I’ve been squeezed dry and put in a barrel. Believe me when I say we’ll get through this — whatever this is — together.


The best idea is, of course, the idea that is mine. I’ve been told I have talent. I’m creative. I’ve taken that praise to heart, but really, I’m only creative under the right circumstances.

Obviously, you must aerate and decant me. And before that, I need to be horizontal at 55°F in a damp, dark room — preferably a wine cellar, but I understand budget constraints. And don’t shake me around a lot, okay? Just remember that as long as everything is how I want it, I’m flexible and brilliant.


They call being stuck in a bottle for this long “aging” like it’s a good thing. Can you believe that? As a grape I loved sunshine, fresh air, the rolling hills and the way the farmer would swing by and squeeze me a little.

Back then, I just wanted to plop off and roll around in the dirt. Once I got picked, I thought my wish was coming true. But that was years ago. Ever since then, I’ve been stuck in confinement. So please get me out of here. Set me free.


Most people use a corkscrew. But if you’re holding me, you’re not most people. Corkscrews work, you’re thinking, but they’re not revolutionary. So, which daring alternative will you choose?

Maybe you’ll take a knife to my neck, wedge it between my cork and glass, defy some physics and pop me open. That’d be macho, but maybe too trite. You might chuck golf balls at me until I crack and then you’ll pour me into a blue solo cup. All I can tell you is rules are for fools.


There, I said it. And truth be told, I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you. You’re beautiful and funny and sweet and that’s all I want. And I think you love me, too. I see you looking at me, uncorking me with your eyes. I’ve been watching you check out those other bottles and you haven’t looked at them that way.

Listen, I know this is fast. And I’m usually more cautious. But, when you know, you know. You know? So, pick me up, baby.