How I kissed a Girl in Macon

This weekend I had the good fortune to go on adventure with TMI to visit a friend and fellow wine student in Macon.

These kind of connections and company can all be jotted up as incredibly good luck, because these kids tend to be the sons of wine makers and owners of vineyards and tasty labels; the result being that I frequently get to indulge while visiting breathtaking countryside and staying in beautiful, old, and very French, homes.

The first night, I helped to cook an enormous pasta in a pot the size of a bathtub for a sudden influx of 20 something guests; each arriving with two or three bottles of their families label under their arm. We had arranged a large table outside under some wine trellises and the whole thing was covered in a staggering assortment of reds and whites- more wine than I'd ever seen in once place at one time.

While smashed up against TMI and I trying to eat my miniscule portion after the pasta had been divided up, I noticed two girls sitting across from me and, delusional from hunger and obvious other intoxicants, somehow fell under the impression they were flirting with me. I leaned in and asked TMI if they were lesbians. He looked horrified and responded firmly "no."

After the pasta, more wine, and a shameful amount of chocolate cake, I was dancing like crazy and started bumping up against one of the girls. She leaned in and told me in a thick French accent and nasally voice "Your husband is very beautiful! Have you meet him tonight?" pointing to TMI. I just laughed and returned the compliment.

Finally, after everyone was too breathless to dance another step, the whole party tore off their clothes and, in panties, bikinis, swim trunks and a lot of whitey tighties, threw one another into the pool. After a lot of wrestling and squealing and even an intimate moment with TMI, I somehow found myself in a dark corner with the French girl. She said "tu est magnifique." I figured this was the time and inexplicably grabbed hold of her and kissed her.. well, savagely.

TMI of course soon had wind of this and got me out of the pool and in to bed where I promptly passed out for 10 hours. I was vaguely aware of him coming in sporadically to check on me and then join me in the wee hours of the morning. I was never born with the party hardy gene, so after a few glasses of wine and the hour of 3 I'm usually looking for bed, so this all suited me fine.

The next morning I had the anguish of sharing an awkward coffee with the French girl. We winced through our hangovers and politely asked one another from where we hailed and what we studied.

Looking back on it I think I may have finally gotten the girl out of my system, but only time will tell. The comforting discovery is that TMI's mouth, later in a warm bed, felt much, much nicer.