I'm a white wino

I am sitting downstairs, obviously on the computer. The day is almost over and I am listening to the dulcet tones of my children shrieking as their father brushes their teeth. How, pray tell, am I sitting here so calmly? Because I have a glass of wine. Oh wine, how I love you. I know, that sounds bad, but I don't care. For those of you who have not discovered it, a glass of wine at the end of the day can be just as effective as several anxiety drugs on the market today. It also has the added benefits of not needing to use it every day or those pesky doctor's appointments.

My love affair with wine had its shaky beginnings in the late 80's with wine and beer's bastard lovechild - the wine cooler. A pair of pioneers named Bartels and James were my portly, southern-accented chaperones into the world of oenophilia introducing me to such vintages as Kiwi Strawberry and Exotic Berry - exotic indeed to my sixteen year-old palette especially when drunk lukewarm freshly liberated from my boyfriend's parents' garage. These sickeningly sweet beverages made it possible for an amateur like me to indulge in a wee bit of alcohol without having to stoop to the lows of drinking beer.

In college, I continued my boycott of all hop-related beverages. Although the first words I ever uttered to my future husband were, "Wanna do a funnel?" it was under the twin pressures of no fake ID to buy wine coolers and wanting him to think I was cool (the jig is now up on that one). Once I surmounted both of these problems I discovered the slutty, big haired, acrylic nail-wearing third cousin of the wine world - white zinfandel. White zin had the dual benefit of higher alcohol content and the sophistication that comes with drinking a beverage whose bottle you can't open with your teeth. I still hear Salt 'N Pepa's "Let's Talk About Sex" when I pass this section of my local wine shop.

Finally, I graduated from college and entered the adult world where, according to my husband, any alcoholic beverages that are not clear, brown or yellow are only to be consumed in surroundings that require Hawaiian shirts and SPF. I was forced to give up my gateway drink and enter the real world of wine. I fell in love. Reds, whites, champagnes, I loved them all and still do. My husband and I even went on a tour of the Napa Valley as our honeymoon. Clever people out there. A single road with a blaringly fluorescent yellow line down the middle is all you need to get you from one end to the other sampling some of the country's best wine along the way. It was like a religious pilgrimage - one we hope to repeat in this lifetime if only we can get someone to take our kids.

Perhaps some of you will walk away from this thinking I have a problem, but look at the French, they are so relaxed (OK maybe relaxed enough to almost become Germans, but let's forget about that) and most of them drink every day. If my only issue is that one glass of wine at night is all it takes to de-stress from my day then I'm not in bad shape. You can start to worry about me when I start carrying a corkscrew in my diaper bag.