I hate when The Texan talks about wine. Is that weird? We were recently out of town and he brought a bottle from his “collection”, and like the last bottle he traveled with, it wasn’t very good. I need to remember to say “no” the next time he asks if he should bring wine, because it’s annoying how he treats his dumb bottles with the servers. They’re not insanely expensive bottles of wine. Plus, this one (as well as the last) tasted as if they had turned. But he treats it as if it were a bottle of 1982 Chateau Lafite-Rothchild Pauillac. He’s only a couple of years into the wine thing, yet he does that horrible fava bean slurp-y noise with his mouth. To what, aerate his 2008 Zinfandel? Or just gross me out?
It’s innocuous and I don’t know why I let it annoy me. But if you know me by now, you know that I’m the Seinfeld of sex workers. I notice every little thing, and so much of it is bothersome. I’m not losing sleep over it, but come on, he’s a hick who knows a teensy bit about wine, but likes to speak in major wine jargon—it’s sandpaper on my nipples. I’m no sommelier, but I grew up thirty minutes from Napa Valley, and I’ve had clients who were actual collectors, I’ve have had some really incredible wine. I’m not a snob. I know what I like and what I don’t like. I’ve tasted $500 dollar bottles of wine that I hated, so it’s not the price. Everyone’s palate is unique. Did that just make me sound like a snob? All I’m saying is, I don’t need to discuss the fucking legs or tannins. I’m just trying to get drunk (or enjoy the wine—when it’s good). And the poor servers, who can’t be rude, but he keeps them at the table to show off his mediocre wine. I know what serving tables is like, there’s at least five things you should be doing at once, and someone at table nine is waiting for something.
I could say something to him about it, but why? I’d only rain on his parade and injure his ego. He wants to be a big shot; it’s my job to fulfill that fantasy. I know he means well. It’s not that he’s cheap, he’s not, but these simply aren’t the kind of wines you bring to a restaurant, asked to be decanted, and make a huge deal over. I should just give him doe eyes and say, “This is so yummy babe, and your dick is huge”. But I can’t because he’d get hard instantly and want to do it in the bathroom. It’s funny how much I have to tone down my sexuality with clients. You’d think it would be the opposite. But I'm not trying to fuck my clients five times a night, or all over town.