I showed up in face paint and nothing else.You opened the wine anyway. That’s on you. I taste like orange zest rubbed on a trampoline, peach skins in a confessional booth, and a wet herbal slap that makes you question the word “maceration.” I’m slightly fizzy. Or maybe that’s just you shaking. You said, “Is this chilled?”I said, “Do you feel chilled?”Then I handed you a slice of grapefruit and told you to bite it while staring directly into the wine. Am I balanced? Emotionally? God, no. Structurally? Impeccably.Am I delicious? You’re already on your third glass. Serve with pickled things, food you can eat off a frisbee, or a three-course meal made entirely of mistakes.It’s not about understanding me.It’s about surrendering to the punchline. Region: Lazio, ItalyGrapes: Malvasia, Trebbiano, Ottonese
