Wine Tasting, Is It a Sin?

From time to time a decent wine company pops up and we schedule a wine tasting. Since we are in the midst of a change of menu and look, the time was ripe. The representatives of a Venetian wine distributor were invited to present their wares last night about six; we purchase enough wine to make a distributor stand up and pay attention. Crown Prince Boris, our head bartender, Ditmar, and myself sat down into a pool of delicious, Italian wine. All of it was quite nice, but we were all partial to a line, whose owner was present, called Gladiatore; it was fine tasting, indeed and the camp aspect was not lost on any of us. Each type of wine had a better camp label than the previous one, and I pealed of this one for my amusement. Everything was going fine until the owner brought out the Prosecco, an Italian champagne that is extremely popular in Europe. (I know it can't be call Champagne unless it is from that region in France, but I will.) How fine was that Prosecco! Boris was on duty, so he was cautious, but Ditmar and myself were definitely not and dove into the Prosecco; we swam in it trying to see who could be the better Ester Williams. Needless to say, by the time the "tasting" was over, we were smashed, babbling like idiots, and singing each others' praise. Oh, yes; we also had the wherewithal to do the right thing: We ask the owner and his distributor to come back on Thursday for another "tasting" so we could make up our minds. Ditmar, who lives on the mainland, actually had to call his maid to take a taxi onto the beach to drive him home. I relied on a taxi. Tastings are dangerous; they are like the ocean. They can be cool and refreshing, but if you venture too far an undertow will surely sweep you away. My head hurts.