in vino veritas

I used to be such a truth teller.  Part of my 20 to 30 something credo, as it were.  Nowadays – I fervently dislike the sound of that – “nowadays” – is it even a word? Or a gross bastardization of language like “irregardless”? Ugh! – hate it so much that I’ll practice confrontational therapy by using it. Words are my friend. Even this one.

Nowadays, I find it easier and much more informative to let people believe what they want about me – or any situation for that matter – in an exercise that tells me all I need to know about them  (i.e. (or e.g.), someone inclined to believe the worst about you might not be the best broad or fella to hang out with, yes?)

(Apparently I’ve never met a parenthetical opportunity I didn’t like, hmmm?)

But, funny thing, what happens if that person is someone who is already supposed to know you???  Someone you’ve done time with: invested emotion and thoughts and the guts of your humanity? Do you not know them afterall? Or anymore?

Hello friend, where’d you go? Oh the Horror! I’ve now come full circle in receiving the spiked end of the Truth Hurts club I once wielded so triumphantly; however indirectly…

Now trot on down to your local TJ’s and get a case of Amarone dell Valpolicella to share with someone you need to get to know better. One mo’ again.

It is the best thing ever.

Honest.

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