Last night I had girl kumpnee (I went southern hillbilly there, don’t worry, I’ll be right back to regular hillbilly) and what a night it was, Reader. I learnt things.
For one, I learnt that I am an equal opportunity wine-oh. Both of these were oh-so-delicious, I’m giving them an 8-Cat Review. That’s the ultimate number of cats anything can receive in my new grading system I just made up.
First, we whipped -and – chadon-nay-nayed. We didn’t really whip, get your mind out of the gutter, Reader, unless you count a light spank on the cat’s butt for trying to nose into the cheese, crackers, crab dip and strawberries. Yes, my boy DJ is a strawberry lubber like his mama. He cannot resist the Siren’s call of the berry. Who can blame him, really? It almost felt wrong to nudge him off the table. But we had kumpnee, so we had to put on proper manners, or at least pretend to.
The Save Me San Francisco wine is a real treat. All of the names of the wines are from Train songs. Not the”Imma working on the Railroad” choo-choo versions, this Train.
It could actually be Train’s wine, I don’t know and I’m not curious enough to ask Almighty Google, but let’s just say if you’re looking for a not-too-sweet, not oaky aftertaste, just a really pleasant white, try it. It’s about $10 a bottle, a good deal for a step above Barefoot brand wines.
The Coppola, well, I went in blind on that. It was a lucky pick. I liked the gold netting on the bottle. It was $19 on sale, and it did not disappoint. A little pricey for everyday drinking wine, but certainly a great Cab for a more special occasion.
Left Turn: I’m sitting here right now and I’m mad at May. It’s damn cold here. I’ve had to turn the heat up, and am going to go have to go and knock the chill off with a fire. I’m ready to pack up and move to the tropics, despite the frizzy havoc it wreaks on my hair.
Back on Track: During the course of our wine-and-snackie evening, we got to discussing female lady bidniz. In particular, what’s going on in our whoo-haa regions since we’re both the same-ish age.
Reader. I found out i’m fully ensconced in MENOPAUSE.
I just…I can’t….I don’t even know.
I couldn’t really believe it so this morning I got up and did ask Almighty Google about the whole situation and yep, it does appear that is where I’m at.
It’s like I missed the whole thing. I kept waiting (with a dreadful heart) for the hot flashes to attack, I thought that was coming a few years down the line, but nope, they skipped me. I would have had them already. I think I did have some of the difficulty sleeping that I just read about, but that too seems to passed – I don’t have much trouble at all sleeping. Ahem. And maybe it contributed to my moody bitchiness that I had and chalked up to my job hatred at Tiny Town, which was a whole lot of the problem, but maybe hormones didn’t help matters.
So it appears I’m not really doing my job knowing what-the-what happens to mah body, I should have been reading up about all this woman stuff a while ago, and I would have known things, but I just thought it was a future thing, and now here I sit, all in my menopause.
All my morning Googling did teach me about the possibility of vaginal atrophy, and I’d prefer it if it just doesn’t do that, too, thank you, and I was much happier not even knowing about this possibility. I mean, it was enough learning that our vaginal walls can crumble and our bladders can fall right out of our vagina holes. That has scarred my mind.
I told the Universe years ago that I did not want to go through hot flashes, and apparently it worked, because I skipped all that.
I’ve also told the Universe I am denying the possibility of any cancers to my body, it had best be listening up on that part, too.
And now I’m adding an atrophied vagina to the list, because I refuse to participate in that as well. I have enough trouble keeping that thing up to par, I don’t need to wage a battle against an atrophying vagina.
What we’ve learned here today is that we can and should love wines of all color, #allwinesmatter, and that vagina’s are tricky business.