Recommended wine for today’s entry: My friend Bill sent a note recommending the Inman Family Wines, and I found that the pinot gris got a great rating from a September post on vinography.com. The post is called “Top Wines of Sonoma: Tasting Notes from Sonoma Wine Country Weekend” and the Inman pinot gris was among the highest-ranked whites. Bill says they ship, too. I have it on my shopping list!
Wow. Here’s some advice for all my readers who are mothers of teenage or young adult daughters: Don’t go into restaurants/nightclubs with them unless you are ready to have your self-esteem crushed into little bitty pieces.
Yipes. We spent the past few days down in Nashville, where we went to a few establishments where the up-and-coming country music singers entertain. It was a lot of fun and after a couple beers (yes, I even had a PBR just for old times’ sake) … after a couple beers I could remember outings to the country bars while I was in college.
Remember how when you were 21, it was like all the singers were singing just to you? It was like they wrote the lyrics with you in mind. Back in the day, I even had one of the singers actually ask me out! Really — before I was a hag, I was actually marketable.
Let me think … it was 1982, so the memory is a bit faint. I do know that it was either George Strait or … or the guy with the mullet who sang in the bar at Chi Chis in the mall. I can’t really remember, but it was definitely one of the two.
This weekend? Not so much. Now I can drink my Pabst and close my eyes and remember being 21, but eventually I have to open my eyes. Because if I close my eyes for more than about 30 seconds, I tend to fall asleep. It’s really embarrassing during prayers at church.
Anyway, the first night we were in Nashville, I was pulled from my reverie by the threat of falling asleep and when I opened my eyes, both literally and figuratively, I saw that all male eyes were on my daughter and her equally pretty friend.
As if reading my mind, my husband leaned over and said something about keeping the girls away from all the lecherous old guys in the bar. Then he threw me a bone — something like Hey, you don’t look half bad in this light. One piece of the ego salvaged, one night to go.
Last night the girls and I shopped for awhile and then decided to stop in Rippy’s to see if the music had started. There was a duo playing, so we grabbed a table in the bar and I ordered a drink because we had an hour to kill before we needed to meet my husband at another restaurant.
I asked for an extra spicy Bloody Mary — yum…. I hadn’t had one of those in a couple of years and it sounded really tasty. The girls got water and we were all happy. Then the singer, of course, asked the two blonde bombshells where they were from and all eyes turned to our table, just as the chaperone (me) was hunched over my Bloody Mary with my pinchers dug down into the cup, trying to fish out the olive.
I put it down really quickly and tried to act like I wasn’t total white trash and I hadn’t just shoved my filthy hand all the way into my drink. I had dropped my napkin and I knew if I bent over to get it my granny panties would hike up my back for the whole bar to see. So I just furtively wiped my dripping hand on my jeans.
At the end of the next song, I had just taken a big swig of the drink and was trying to lick the big crescent of seasoned salt off my upper lip/cheek/tip of my nose when once again, Mr. Singer calls attention to our table, something about where he was from in Kentucky and do the girls like Blake Shelton and oh, by the way, why does your mother have her tongue distended almost to her ear?
Still not humiliated enough to leave, I kept drinking the Bloody Mary. Now I’m starting to feel a little of the vodka. So when the singer says, Hey are any of y’all out there drinkin’? I of course raise my hand. Just a little. I mean, it’s a bar, right? I’m of legal age. So then the singer says, C’mon — don’t be so timid — be proud of it! Is anybody out there drinkin’?
OK, I figure, because I’m a dolt with a little bit of a buzz, I’ll play along. So I hold my drink up in my right hand — WOO HOO — I’m drinkin’ !! I say, and it’s pretty loud this time. Of course, I was thinking that there’d be others doing the same thing.
Nope. Just me. Everyone else in there was with some convention of like women’s barbershop quartets and the median age was somewhere around 84. There was a lot of sweet tea on the tables.
So when I whooped WOO HOO, it was pretty clear that I was pretty much drinking alone.
And when I held my drink up in an enthusiastic toast to go along with my WOO HOO, a big slosh of Bloody Mary tipped out the side and poured its way down my sleeve.
Dang. I really needed the rest of that vodka.