TOTALLY WIRED

摘要

Candidly, I was about four wines deep by high noon. Hold the judgment, if you please. It was one of those whoopsie-daisy kinds of Saturdays where the sun begs you to sip its splendor in the form of semi-effervescent California whites at your favorite neighborhood cantinas. Minimal risk of indecorum on my part—of all the creative names my enemies call me, Ripley D. Lightweight isn't one of them. Though, yes, I do suffer that lightest pinkening of cheeks, a lush's flush, when I imbibe. Perhaps also a certain slackening of step and sense. So sue me!