It's Okay To Drink Wine 'Cause It Don't Have Any Feelings
by Dan Powell
The wine sat untouched, wondering why nobody was drinking her yet. It’s true she was in an old glass, 18th Century or so judging by the air-twist drawn in her stem, but that should have only added to her allure. Her vintage had a proven track record of holding well over time, she had been subject to rigorous production methods at every stage from grape selection to barrel-aging, and expert consensus as to her quality was really without compare. She scanned the conversations smattering the air around her for some clue as to why she would be left here unconsumed.
‘Cost fifteen hundred dollars and won’t even mature until at least 2012,’ one voice said.
‘Yes, but think what it will be worth then,’ another added.
All eyes were on the new bottle, a Petrus Pomerel 1998, stowed in pride of place in the expansive cellar. She had heard her owner talk of this wine before. Its grapes were harvested early and left to mature, producing a rich purple taste suggestive of berries, vanilla, mocha and oak.
She couldn’t believe her owner would muddy the day of her uncorking by announcing her replacement. She pushed hard against the edge of her glass, sending it toppling into the bottle containing the rest of her. Both fell and shattered on the cellar floor. From her puddle she watched the grief of wasted dollars and lost taste sensation flood her owners face and was satisfied.