The Laments Of An Alcoholic Sissy

A face-off between me and a glass of ice wine

Much like the slogan of the Kwazulu-Natal country roads in South Africa, I have zero tolerance when it comes to alcohol. Fact is, I can never hold my own when it comes to drinking. A dead giveaway is when I sip something with just a teensy-weensy bit of spirit and my whole face turns tomato red. Every single time. It's either that or I swoon at the sight of liquor. Frankly I do not know which is worse.

Pity though, because I would really love to totally rock it as a social drinker. I am fascinated by the whole art of drink-making and shaking. And I adore watching my friends make me a drink not strong enough to knock me down. Where's the fun in flooring someone so easily plastered, they say? The more challenging part was to keep me from sinking into a drunken stupor.

But I digress. Guess it is just one of those things. I love it; it doesn't love me back. Alcohol, I mean.

So when we bought ice wines on our trip to Niagara on the Lake last year, it was all for temptation.

You see, regardless of how wine makes me feel, I have a select few that I simply can't resist drinking and getting tipsy with. Such is the case here. After my last sip of ice wines in Germany, I've promised myself that the next time I come into close proximity, I am buying myself a bottle. And that I did.

I have been saving the bottle for some time now, trying to determine a good day to have it. I feel that since drinking a whole bottle will surely render me blotto for days, maybe even a good solid week, the occasion to which I drink to must be apt. But then again, of course, like every experience in life, I know that there never is a good day except for the now.

Now is as good a time as any. I'll drink to that. Care to join me?