“A dress made of wine, what a dream come true.”
“The only problem I have is that the red wine has to go off.”
“Does she have to stand there, naked, while it grows all over her?”
“Do you have to manually put it on her, and rub it in?”
“Would Lara or Jennifer volunteer to be the first?”
“We could televise it as – ‘Celebrity Dress’, or ‘The Naturally Growing Wardrobe’, or ‘Give Me An Off Wine And I’ll Dress You’. The possibilities are endless.”
“You could grow it, bottle it, drink it, leave it, grow it, dress it.”
“The wine lake could become the wine wardrobe!”
The boys were getting excited, and thankfully the girls arrived with the finger food. “What are you guys talking about, you look excited.”
“Ahh, the wine lake,” PCH explained. “What a bugger of a problem – how can it be addressed?”
“Don’t mention dresses!” Bazz hissed.
“What’s this about dresses?” Irena inquired. “You’re not talking dirty?”
“No,” PCH replied, “we thought that wineries could have fashion shows with wine and food so they can get rid of excess wine and have a good time.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Denise added as she poured the boys an early Coonawarra Cabernet.
“They could have foot pressing and next weekend come back to make the dresses,” Bazz enthusiastically replied.
“What dresses?” Irena asked.
“Ahh, what a great Coonawarra, Denise,” Bazz said, “where did it come from?”
“Coonawarra,” Irena replied. “What’s this about dresses?”
“We even thought that the dresses for the showing could be made at the winery,” PCH explained, “ahh, in a series of workshops.”
“Sounds great,” Denise said. “But, hey, on the subject of dresses, did you read about the dresses some scientists have made using the scum off old wine?”
There was a silence.
“Oh, looks like some old scum wine drinkers know all about it,” Irena scowled.
“Do you want me to open this Rouge Homme, my petite bonne pêche,” Bazz pleaded, “I know nothing about dresses, only those I wish to buy for you.”
“What’s happening here, PCH?” Denise asked. “What’s in it for me?”
“It’s only boys’ crap, really, nothing to be worried about. It’s only shit anyway. Who’d want a dress made of wine scum, up against your body, growing slowly, sensuously against your nakedness, lovingly applied by your lover. Drinking and growing, what could be better? It’s …”
“Sounds like a trip to David Jones for me Petey,” Denise said as she screwed his ear. “What crap you boys talk about.”
PCH extricated himself and stood behind me as he poured himself a glass of one of my McLaren Vale reds.
“It’s just that we have an interest in science, mon petite chou-fleur.”
“How come Irena is a peach, and I’m a bloody colliflower?” Denise demanded. “You can take me to Myer as well!”
“Do you speak French?” PCH whispered. He yanked the cap of one of Bazz’s reds. “You bugger, Bazz, why did you mention dresses?”
“You told me first!”
“Looks like Target for a bit of McCartney as well.” Denise gave PCH a squeeze. “Haa, it’s a good start to the weekend.”
“And I think dear old WT can get a few good wines out of his cellar,” Irena said, “as he’s been one of the boys.”
Denise tapped PCH on the lips, “I told you not to tell Bazz about the wine dress article.”
“Why is everyone blaming me?” Bazz demanded.
“You were the one who said not to mention dresses, when we were talking about the wine lake,” I explained.
Michael Buble sang as we quietly rejoined the antipasto and wine selection. I could see that the boys were ingratiating themselves, and it looked rather obscene.
“If you look at your last report, Dear WT,” PCH grizzled, “you mentioned the bloody wine dress, you’re responsible for all this crap and our credit card blowout”
I admitted it with a smile.
---------------------------------------------
Join Our Forum and leave your comments on this article or anything else you have read on this site. To create your own account on our forum, please click on the following link.
QUICK LINKS
