About six months ago my colleague, the obnoxious cretin, underwent open heart surgery for an aneurism in one of his aortic valves. The OC is a retired Army colonel, and he is not someone you would want to mess with if you were drunk off your ass in a bar looking for a fight. The OC would heave you through a window without a second thought. If you were sober, you would not make the mistake of picking a fight with the OC—he’s built like a freight train, and he works out.
“The thing that gets me, Jenn,” he said before the surgery, “is they crack your chest open.”
It never occurred to me that you have to have your chest cracked open to have open heart surgery, and the thought of it was like fingernails on a chalkboard, except that I couldn’t shudder because he was telling me this before the surgery. I smiled instead and told him he was being a sissy and his doctor had performed this surgery enough times he could do it in his sleep.
The OC flipped me off, and I responded with a five-syllable word, which always gives the OC pause for thought. And then he left, presumably to get on dictionary.com.
Later when Wendy told me that they use the surgical equivalent to hedge clippers to open up the chest cavity, I crossed myself. And I’m not even Catholic.
The surgery was uneventful and the OC has since recovered and has returned to his normal insufferable humor. Three weeks ago he asked me for a chardonnay recommendation.
“Who is she?” I asked.
The OC didn’t answer. He likes to remain clandestine about his affairs, and I forgot all about it. Then last week the OC burst into my office.
“I need you for 20 minutes, Jenn,” he said, practically dragging me out to the parking lot.
“Where are we going?”
The OC just smiled.
“If this were the movies, we’d be on a private jet headed for Paris.”
The OC snorted, and five minutes later we were parking at the Coast Guard station PX and heading for the wine isle. The selection was uninspired at best.
“Who is this for? I can’t advise you if I don’t know the purpose.” [Read: I’m nosy as hell and I’m going to find out if it takes my dying breath to do it.]
The OC finally admitted that he was buying the chardonnay for his cardiologist.
“Are you sure he’s a chardonnay drinker?”
“His nurse said that’s what he drinks.”
The doctor probably drinks red. The nurse probably drinks chardonnay and knows from experience the doc will give her the chardonnay.
“The best thing they have here is this Kendall Jackson, which is a good wine, but it’s what I drink every day, and it’s probably not going to score you any points.”
The OC didn’t like my answer so he grabbed the PX warden and started questioning her.
“We have several nice chardonnays,” she said, indicating Woodbridge and Yellowtail.
“Who are you going to trust?” I hissed as the PX warden walked away. “The woman wearing the Barney-colored Goodyears or the woman in the vintage Stuart Weitzmans?” (In this case, “vintage” means 8 years old and resoled thanks to a little Russian cobbler and two hard-earned $20 bills.)
“And did you hear how she pronounced Clos du Bois?!”
I drug the OC out by his ear and directed him to an exclusive wine shop where I introduced him to the owner Olivia, a petite blonde in an elegant suit.
“Olivia knows wine,” I said to the OC. And then to Olivia, “The OC needs a good wine to give to his doctor.”
Olivia got excited and hustled us over to the Italian section where she showed us a red.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re looking for a chardonnay. Something like a Mer Soleil. Something with oak and butter.”
Olivia’s face fell.
“That’s so last year,” she said.
“Huh?”
“The trend now is to get away from oak.”
“What chardonnay do you drink?”
“I don’t like chardonnay.”
I looked down. Beneath her beautiful raw silk suit, Olivia was wearing a delicious pair of Christian Louboutin ballerina flats. Carrie Bradshaw would die.
Back in the OC’s SUV with two bottles of Sonoma-Cutrer that I’m sure Olivia didn’t like but which she said had “name recognition,” the OC looked at me and grinned. “Jenn, you just got slammed.”
No shit.
I tried to think of a five-syllable word to hurl at him, but my brain failed me.
Finally, I looked at him and said, “Oh, manifest off.”
Addenda
1) Although I loathe Crocs, I acknowledge their practicality. Technically, I own 2.5 pair—all in wee sizes.
2) I’ve recently changed wine stores. My new sommlier is a man whose loafers do not inspire shoe envy, and, more importantly, he wouldn’t humiliate me if I came in to make a $40 purchase.
Breaking news
When Crecia asked how the doctor liked the Sonoma-Cutrer, I posed the question to the OC. The OC reluctantly admitted that he recently learned the doc likes cabernet sauvignon, not chardonnay.
{ 10 comments }
Why are men clueless when it comes to wine? I don’t drink that much wine, but yet I know more than my husband. Why is that!
A women wearing designer flats in a wine shop? Hmm, pay must be good!
You’re good though, I wouldn’t be able to spot a pair of designer flats even if I was wearing them!
Great post! I FINALLY subscribed! Took me long enough!
Oh how I love a good wine! I am with you, I only buy my wine from a local store and they are SO nice to me. Let me know if the man in the loafers doesn’t work out. I will pass on their name. And they are now even special ordering my cab! No, it’s not expensive, but now the weather has gotten cold, a good bottle of cab is a must-have in my house. Cheers!
My fave part? 5-syllable-word, dictionary.com.
I love the OC.
🙂
But how’s PAPA?
As always, Jenny, you make me laugh, smile and smirk! I’ve found a lovely wine store here, that not only doesn’t participate in slamming, but has AWESOME wines in the $10-15 range and encourages you to buy them. They also have $100 wines, but I can buy lots of nice $10 wine for that price 😉 I will be sad to leave them when we move 🙁
Thanks, ladies. I try to stay under $15, too, Erin! Heather, let’s have a bottle of cab together soon! Irene, thanks for subscribing!
And, Pamela, Papa is home safe and will probably make an appearance next week!
Cheers!
Sonoma-Cutrer?? That is like so last decade and over priced.
Miss Whatabitch Olivia may have gotten a snub in, but since you are now visiting the man in the nondescript loafers for your wine I’d say you are the victor.
I am currently without a good wine shop here in Austin, I had one in Michigan and they got in excellent selections in the $10-20 range.
Who needs Chardonnay? I get plenty of relief from reading your humor! (The bubbles and I say ‘thanks!’) Btw, I’m impressed at all of the shoe images included in this post…now that’s some talent!
I don’t drink anymore. Something happened after I had my children and my metabolism for alcohol just wasn’t the same as before. Plus, I never had a babysitter (didn’t trust anyone to do as good of a job as myself) that would spend the night so I could drink “guilt-free,” so I just eventually quit for good.
But… all those names brought back such good memories! Chardonnay was my drink of choice because I could just sip it slowly forever, compared to everyone else downing their drinks like thirsty camels in the desert.
Good guess on the doctor’s nurse trying to finagle that bottle of Chadonnay for herself! And a 5-syllabel word spoken in a man’s presence that leaves him speechless? Damn, you’re good!
So what did the doctor think about the wine?
Your breaking news is hilarious. You called it.
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