Drinking red wine requires you develop balance, finesse and coordination.
I, sadly, lack all of these.
This explains why every lovely top I own has some errant splotch of cabernet right in the cleavage zone. Bulls-eye!
I can’t help it; the wine made me do it.
About the time I get to the bottom of my first glass , I’m a hand talker. Flapping them around for emphasis, it seems I cannot get my point across unless I’m channeling a Pollack canvas move, not with paint, but with a red blend from Red Mountain.
What do you do when you find you are in the middle of happy party crowd and suddenly dribble all over yourself?
Dash to the bathroom and try to clean it with cold water, some soap, and then dab hard with a towel. Didn’t work. There is now a large wet, wrinkled ink blot, less red , more like a rose’ much worse then the original stain.
I choose the path of least resistance, and being the professional wino that I am, I have a tried and true contingency plan.
Dash to your over-sized purse, pull out the back up blouse you’ve smartly stashed which is interchangeable with what you’ve just ruined, toss it on, toss your hair and get back in the mix.
What do you do with a wine stain?