Does everyone lead a partitioned life? With parts so unlike others that they are mentally irreconcilable? How is it that a clueless, classless dork like me ended up in that restaurant last night, fielding questions about whether or not I required a white burgundy glass, or would I like another glass of sauterne
? Why didn't the alarms start blaring when I walked in the door? Oh well, by the end of the evening--12 magnificent (I'm told) wines later--I was too pleasantly soused to fret about my interloper status.
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