This is a post about wine

My two best friends are Kim. No that’s not a grammatical error, they are both named Kim and have been friends since primary school. They allowed me to join their mosh-pit of craziness in 2009 when we all moved in together (of course they shared a room). I promptly named them Kim 1 (brunette) and Kim 2 (blonde). Kim 1 is a logical, everything-is-black-and-white lawyer, Kim 2 is a conservation graduate that works in spectrums of colour.

Over the past year and a half (since Kim 1 returned from Belgium where she met the love of her life) every time we get together, Kim 2 brings with a free bottle of wine she got as a party favour from a friends 21st. The girls parents printed her photo on the bottle (thanks Azel’s ma & pa). Being the wine-snob I like to think I am, I consistently refused to drink this wine, always bringing my own.

When Kim 2 decided to move to London, we knew we would have to open and drink Azel’s bottle in farewell and memorium for our trio of madness.

I was put to shame.

In spite of the kitsch bottle the wine was smooth, rich and delicious. (that said I did have a killer headache the next day)

Thanks my Kimmy for showing this snob that looks can be deceiving


Kim 1 suspiciously sniffs the bottle of wine, and says it smells like olives



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