Call my grandma.

Last night Kyle and I went to eat at Romano's. Not the macaroni grill, a local Italian place. I went there with the intention of having wine with my dinner because wine and Italian food just go together.

I've never had wine before and was too shy to ask our waiter what he recommends so Kyle asked for me. The waited said, "What kind of wine do you like?" I told him I'd never had wine before and he asked if I was twenty-one. I said yes. That was that. He didn't card me, just took my word for it. Basically, I love that man. I told him I was twenty-one and he believed me. No one ever believes me when I tell them how old I am.

Anyway, that's not the point of this story.

So we talked about wine for a second and he went to get me a taste of a red wine. He came back with one red and one white. I leaned over to Kyle and said, "This restaurant gets an A." He put them down on the table and I tried them. Red wine first...la crema California? Something like that. I took a sip, made a face that sent Kyle into a fit of laughter, and said, "That was the worst thing I've ever tasted." He called me a baby. Then the white...I have no idea what it was. It was also bad. Not half as bad as the red (which raises the question, why is red wine not chilled?) but bad nonetheless.

Kyle also tried them. He said the white was ok but the red was awful. I think I said something like, "BOOYAH! I told you!"

I really wanted to like the wine. I wanted to be like Stanley on the Office: "Oh yes, I like a glass red wine at night. You know, for the antioxidants." It seems as though I am just a fruity, girly drink kind of person. I'm totally ok with that.