Catching sight of the rows of bottles in my neighborhood wine store the other day -- a holiday banner hanging merrily in the window -- I felt a pang of sadness and regret. Each of the artfully displayed bottles seemed filled with the promise of sensual delight. I could almost taste the chilled chardonnays, the rich, tangy sauvignons. But even more than the imagined flavors, were the happy moments I associated with them: the festive gatherings of friends, the perfect pairings with multi-course meals, the solo glass at the end of a long day.
I admit it, I have really enjoyed drinking wine all these years. So why, why, at the age of 50 did I give it up?
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