PEOPLE WHO TALK WITH THEIR HANDS

Sunday was a lot of fun, all things considered. My blog friend Sherri and her family finally moved here to Wimberley just a couple of weeks ago, and have already discovered and fallen in love with the Driftwood Vineyards. John and I made plans to meet them there Sunday afternoon for a glass of wine, and to go out to dinner with them afterwards. Outdoor Woman and her hubby love the place as well, and when I found out that they were finally back in town (she's been flitting around all summer) I suggested they join us there. Shortly after they arrived, they ran into a couple they knew from Houston, who just happened to be here on vacation, so it turned into quite the party!

Now, normally, I prefer white wine, but since it was about as cheap to buy a whole bottle as three glasses, I agreed to share a red with John. That was my first mistake. I had taken only one or two sips from my glass, when someone made the mistake of asking me about "those classes you've been taking", wondering how on earth one can learn art online. That was the second mistake. As usual, when talking about something that excites me, my hands get ta flappin', and, well, this was the result.

Fortunately, Outdoor Woman's hubby hopped right up, ran inside the tasting room, and came back with  a bottle of fizzy water and a wad of paper towels, which I carried off to the restroom to see what I could do with. John claims that when I poured that icy cold Pellagrino down my cleavage, they could hear my squeal from a hundred yards away, but he exaggerates.

Miracle of miracles, it did such a good job of taking the red out, they managed to talk me into sticking to our plan of going on to dinner afterwards. Instead of looking like I'd spilled red wine on myself, I looked like I'd merely wet my pants, which, for some odd reason, didn't seem quite so bad in comparison (it was a dark restaurant). Best of all, my hubby thought I smelled fantastic!