Here’s a truth I woke up to today: 8 times out of 10, when I am buying wine from a bottleshop…I purchase the bottle not thinking of the company that I’ll be sharing it with, not thinking of the food I have cooked, but worrying whether or not the guy behind the cash register (who I don’t even know) is going to snigger in his head, or in any other way judge me for my purchase. It’s the truth, and I don’t care what you think of me. Well, clearly that’s not true, but I am trying really hard not to care what you think of me.
Here’s another dilemma: we live in the middle of cool climate wine country, I know, don’t hate me. Yum. But to buy wine from the local shop, I have to sneak in and wait until the shop is empty before I make my purchase or send my Stepford husband in. Perhaps, you think I am weird and slightly obsessive compulsive, but so many of the local people are wine makers and I don’t want to show favoritism and squirm in discomfort by buying Mr Shaw’s wine when Mr Helm is standing right behind me with his Sydney Morning Herald and a loaf of Tip Top Hyfibe. I don’t care what you think
hardly at all. If the shop traffic won’t clear and my neck is sore from craning the aisles continuously, or if Nick the guy behind the register is giving me funny looks, then I turn to my old standby, my old fave bottle of Yellow bubbly..familiar as a pair of comfy slippers, my hot water bottle version of wine – a bottle I can buy anywhere in any bottleshop in Australia. Yes, in the middle of wine country, I buy a bottle of Yellow.
I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care.