The cork slid out of the neck of the bottle with a wet pop. “Here we go ladies and gentleman,” Emma said as she poured a hearty amount of dark red wine into the table’s glasses. “This has been sitting in my basement probably longer that some people at this table have been alive.” She smiles at Hannah lovingly. Hannah reciprocates by sticking her tongue out at her aunt.
The man from Mississippi picks up his glass, gives it a swirl, and shoves his nose into the glass where he begins to make pig like sniffing noises. “This my dear proprietor,” he cries in his thick southern accent, “is the most full bodied wine I may have ever had the pleasure of –“
His wife silenced him with a brief nod. “No need to be so loud, Truman,” she whispered, her accent was dainty and feminine.
I raised my glass and mimicked the man from Mississippi, swirling the wine, smelling it all before taking a sip. I had no idea what he was talking about. It smelled terrible and tasted even worse. I fought the urge to gag as I swallowed and gently set my cup down, pushing it back across the table with two fingers. Wine, I decide, is disgusting. Thank you, but no. From here on out I will gladly stick to Bud Lite in a frosty brown bottle.
Hannah’s face appears to agree. She sips her glass of wine and grimaces, setting the elegant glass down and pushing it towards mine. She looks at me, then nods toward the doorway. Let’s get out of here, the nod implies. I shake my head in agreement and we both excuse ourselves from the table.