emma dee wine

I like wine. I really, really like wine.

Yep, it’s true. I might even go as far as to say, ‘I fucking love wine’. I mean, it complements everything: food, faces, fucktards and awkward family affairs.

Shit is super chic when you’re sloshed, as they say. (Don’t quote me on this: I can’t be entirely sure if anyone actually says this. Or if it’s, like, factual.)

But you get the point: wine is the perfect accessory. Be it morning, noon or night, wine is a fabulous delight! (See what I did there: witty poetry. Fuck I’m brilliant.)

Note: drinking wine may cause one to excessively talk nonsense, think they’re a poet and make lame jokes that no one finds funny.

Here you’ll find exactly that: me, being drunk; doing stupid shit; and then writing about it in a bid to make you LOL. Or ROFL. Or LOL while ROFL-ing. (Maybe I just want you to do stupidly-abbreviated actions just so I can to skull my chaaampagne, in peaaace, daaarling.)


On a brighter note, I once read a marvelous quote that said:

Drink very good wine—it will make your face flushed and in return you will look beautiful.


Aww. What she said.

(Rosy cheeks: cute. Red all over: you might be having an allergic reaction to the fortified beverage.)





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