Red Wine Walking

Adjective: graceful greys-ful
1. Characterized by beauty of movement, style, form, or execution Be like a bull in a china shop:
1. to often drop or break things because you move awkwardly or roughly.
2. me

Yes, I am a Taurus. And yes, I am left-handed. Other than that I have no rhyme or reason of why I have the nickname “Red Wine Walking.”

I don’t go around spilling a lot of things…well, not all the time. I don’t always bump into things – except a few times a day…which explains the unusual bruises that appear on my shins. And I am not accident prone. Anymore. But for some unknown reason, I spill red wine. A lot. And not because I’ve had too much of it. I don’t spill water or juice or diet Coke or even white wine. Just red wine.

I have a group of friends that I often travel with. One of the things we have in common is we all do like to drink wine. Red wine. On a trip to Atlanta a few years back, my friends (who thankfully have a great sense of humor) decided to surprise me. I walked out of the room, and when I returned, they had all donned rain ponchos (hood and all) and were holding up signs that read “NO Red Wine Walking”.

Ha. Like I said, they have a good sense of humor most of the time. Well, this really was a surprise and caught me so off guard I fell on the floor laughing so hard I almost spilled my red wine.

I was at an art gallery last week with all my buddies, and there were appetizers and – ah – red wine. I was innocently sitting in a chair, with my wine on a table next to me, and the table tipped over…splattering red wine all over my friends freshly dry-cleaned pants. Yup. The entire gallery now knows my nickname.

I have stock in enzyme, Shout, Oxi-Clean, you name it. I have gotten quite proficient in getting red wine stains out of the carpet, clothing, and dogs (don’t ask…).

I have decided to wear my nickname as a badge of honor. I have framed my “Red Wine Walking” signs and put them in the basement. By the bar. I try to wear red or other dark colors when I know I will be drinking wine. I try to adhere to the “six foot” rule my friends have now given me whenever I have a glass of wine in my hand. Most of my friends are accommodating. Others will only serve Chardonnay if they know I’m coming over. Still others just wear red along with me, and bravely stand next to me at cocktail parties, concerts and events. I guess if I have to be dubbed a nickname, it may as well be something I enjoy. I mean at least I’m “Pickled Beets Walking” or “Lima Beans Walking.” Now if I can just figure out how not to break my good wine glasses and cut myself on the corkscrew, I’ll be all set.