Wine or whine?:
That was the real question and that’s what she’d asked me as I stood in her kitchen on a cold, grey winter’s day.
“Jemima, what do you want? Wine or whine?”
I hadn’t understood at first. I thought she was saying the only option was wine.
“Do I have a choice?” I’d asked her pointedly.
She shook her head as if she couldn’t understand that I was being so dense.
“As in red wine or do you want to whine and get it off your chest?” she asked again.
“Oh…” I’d uttered when I realised what she meant.
“Both,” I’d replied and that’s when she’d sat me down and we’d talked about everything until we’d finished the bottle.