Riesling Goes With Anything

She knew everything.

At least she always sounded like she did.

“Riesling goes with anything,” she proclaimed with authority. Those proclamations always came before an audience of more than me. After a few weeks with her I was beyond impressing.

“Anything?” gasped one of her vapid coworkers, the one who crocheted those doll torso toilet paper covers for office craft fairs. “Really?”

“Sure,” she replied. Big smug, Estee Lauder grin. “With anything on this table.”


Even with the fucking shoyu chicken.

They all lined up for a pour.

Not me.

I’d seen this show.

I reached for the scotch.

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