Holy facepalm, I'm afraid to read Natalie MacLean!

I've been snooping around online trying to get a feel for the landscape, and Ms. MacLean absolutely terrifies me!

Mr. New York Times, I truly don't know how I feel about wine just yet and I'm really not much of a drinker.  Forgive me?

Seriously.  From an Amazon Book Description:  Natalie tastes sensuous pinot noir in the ancient cellars of Burgundy.  Are you kidding me?  You have got to be joking, right?  I remember drinking a bottle of something that was a murky ruddy red on a beach in Portugal twenty some years ago.  We'd picked it up with a loaf of bread for a buck on our honeymoon and hit the beach to watch the sunset.  A stray dog kept trying to hump another stray in his ear behind our picnic spot, I kid you not, and the fisherman standing a few yards down the beach playing with his pole kept leering.  That's pretty much as good as it gets here.  That and homemade rose petal wine someone gave me about a dozen years ago for my birthday.  I swear it was like drinking a bottle of dollar store perfume.  Not that I've made a habit of drinking dollar store perfume (I'm trying to cut back - I swear!), but pinot noir in the ancient cellars of Burgundy?  

Thank you, Natalie.  Thank you for intimidating the absolute shite out of me.

To absent friends,

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