I used to be a relatively cosmopolitan person, and while I was never anything close to a foodie, I had respectably sophisticated taste in liquor, if not in food. But now that I’m a mom and am invisible anyway, I feel comfortable admitting to the first sign of what will undoubtedly be a long slide (or more realistically a swift plunge) into dorky embarrassing suburban mom-hood: I now only want to drink cold canned wine that tastes like juice. Ideally the pink kind, with bubbles in it.
I don’t know what it is, man. I didn’t drink for a year, and then I had Edith, and when I went back to drinking, this was all I wanted and it still is. It’s not going away. Maybe because it’s so hot outside, or maybe because I am too tired to actually enjoy the experience of having a good drink. Either way, there it is: I drink fizzy soda pop wine from the grocery store now, and I unironically enjoy it.
Accismus 