’Twas a Wine Country Christmas

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore, it’s time for my annual redux of “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” better known by its portentous first line, which opens with the Shakespearean-hued contraction ’Twas…

’Twas a Wine Country Christmas and all through the cellar

Were stowed bottles of vino and this lucky feller.

Since I was a guest, I should’ve inquired

“Say, mind if I binge?” before it transpired.

But my host quipped, “Don’t judge a wine by its label”

So, in due time, I drank him under the table.

Then I sneaked down the hall and through the cellar door

Brandishing a corkscrew and thirsting for more.

“Now, Syrah! Now, Malbec! Grenache and Chenin!

On, Pinot! Primitivo! Tempranillo and Zin!”

We’ll pop all the corks and we’ll fill every cup;

We’ll drink upside down just to say “Bottom’s up!”

Champagne gushed like geysers, merlot poured like rain;

Zins went to my head and cabs to my brain.

My teeth had turned purple, my cheeks had gone red.

Visions of cirrhosis danced through my head.

I crawled on my knees…