This is what wine is:
A dead, half putrefied grape, who wants to consume your brain cells. Gross, right? <This is my brain on too-much-Jon-playing-Madden-in-the-background.
On the other hand...
Did I just cure wino-ism? I can't eat bone in chicken because it reminds me too much of the poor bird's miserable, arsenic ridden life. Maybe if I convince myself to feel sympathy/be grossed out by grapes, we won't have to shop for smaller wine glasses anymore.
I think I did.
You are welcome.
What's that you say? Test it out before I make broad sweeping declarations?
*Stares hard at grape-zombie*
*Glug Glug* (oh, ahem, I mean *sip, sip*)
Nevermind. Those rotten little buggers are delicious.