I Know It Sounds Like An Excuse to Talk About the Things I Like
5/8/24
Today is National Moscato Day. No, I didn’t say mosquito. That would be ridiculous. Today’s the day when wine lovers celebrate one of the oldest known varieties of grapes grown in the world, the Moscato (pronounced muhs-kat-tow).
The Moscato grape ranges in color from white to almost black and from sweet to dry tastes. (I prefer mine sweet.) Moscato also pairs well with a variety of food, such as steak or a plate of fresh fruit and sharp cheese.
The Moscato I normally drink pairs well with something else: sleep.
No matter what time I drink it, it makes me drowsy, which is probably why I’m not much of a drinker. Although I have been known to occasionally cozy up to a glass of wine every now and then. For example, recently Donna and I were invited next door to celebrate the twins’ birthday. The twins are Bev and Steve’s grandchildren. It was a grand old time.
Then Bev pulled out a bottle of Moscato.
“Look what I have, Mike.”
She knows it’s my kryptonite. I can’t say no. Leah was at the party too, and I know she likes Moscato, so I figured what’s the harm? We’ll share.
“Leave the bottle,” I say to Bev, which is where I made my mistake.
As a kid, my mom always had a sweet beverage in the fridge, either a bottle of soda or a pitcher of some Kool-Aid knockoff. With two thirsty brothers competing for the same drinks, I learned to drink fast and fill my glass to the top. That’s a bad habit to have when you’re drinking Moscato.
As the party wore on, I kept looking at the bottle. There’s not that much in there, I said to myself after my second glass (and Leah was hardly helping at all!). I don’t know at what point in the party I decided to finish off the bottle. I just remember mixing the Moscato with a blue drink Donna had handed me, which had gummy bears in it. What could go wrong?
It didn’t take long before everyone’s jokes seemed funnier, the food tasted better, the atmosphere seemed brighter. One problem: My thoughts were getting muddier and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open.
Curse you, Moscato grape! You got me again!
But one of the best things about going to a party at Bev and Steve’s house is that my house is just 20 yards away. I quietly excused myself, wobbled over to my house, and collapsed into bed. An hour or so later, I popped myself back out of bed and rejoined the party. I don’t even think Donna missed me.
Thanks for the party invite, Bev and Steve. One minor critique, however: Next time don’t invite that sneaky scoundrel, Mr. Moscato. We have a history.
#maybeitwasthegummybears
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