« The Bidness of Being Bree | Main | Clickety Clackety on the Typerackety »
September 14, 2006
Confidential to KJT at 787 Seventh: You. Balm. Diggety.
The UPS man just done brung me two bottles of the finest birthday present a girl could ever hope to receive care of the best friend a girl could ever hope to know. Shipment one of my three-month "Wine club" membership includes a nice big ole California Zinfandel (*my favorite!*) and a Rhone blend of Roussanne and Grenache Blanc. Sounds delightful - and totally new to me.
Kirsten - you are the best. Thanks so so so so much.
You have no idea how much I wish you and I could drink them together. Preferably at a Jr. High dance party in Erin Jenning's barn at which you're wearing an oversized green turtleneck and I'm wearing fingertip gloves:
And/or at a 1995 party up to Stone Hill at which you're wearing an oversized green henley and I'm wearing a button-up knotted at the waist:
NB: This was in the middle of a Massachusetts summer - hence our tawny skin tones and long sleeves...
And/or one from this last July right here in the Mile High in which you're wearing the exact same thing I am - down to the bra and abject drunkeness:
But alas. Until I finally convince you to abandon it all and come live with me out West, the mems will have to suffice. Smoox to the ooxtreme.
Posted by Bree at September 14, 2006 11:00 AM
