The Booty Requiem

 

Like women, some wines can leave you a little disillusioned with the ego maniacal, all-booty-and-no-brain interpretations.

Wino 2
A dame, a bottle and a story.
 

By Dinkinish O'Connor

My cousin - Roy-The-Mean-One - always said he’d never marry a “fat girl.” Yet, his fiancé who I met on Oscars night, not only exceeds his once didactic physical requirements (32A or B-size breasts with “nipples that could split atoms,” 24 -inch waist and 32-size booty) but she’s about a size 16 - in black. Roy-The-Mean-One and I basically spent all our childhood summers together, and he always liked a big, Sir-Mix-A-Lot -booty. We played dodge ball on those Kingstonian streets, and some luscious rude girl in hot pink and black biking shorts passes by, a seemingly removable, beach ball-round ass in tow, and Roy-The-Mean-One instantly became stiff.

But, since he moved to America and became a gynecologist, he’s become a Closet Big Booty Freak. “You can’t marry a fat ass,” he tells me endearingly, cautioning me to tame the growth spurt of my own wildly Caribbean, luscious derriere. “If it’s fat now, it will be uncontrollable after children. Fat asses are for testing one’s strength, double dipping and juicing up bedroom sheets…”

So, why the sudden change? Despite his assholic perspectives, Roy-The-Mean-One has attracted a string of beautiful, string-sized women - the Japanese-Austrian girl who told him she didn’t want to have black children, the Dominican model who had a minor anorexic issue and the Jamaican cook who . . . (Actually, I’m not sure why they didn’t work out).

I’m going through similar changes. I recently fell in love with Cabernet Sauvignon. I became a little disillusioned with the ego maniacal, all-booty-and-no-brain interpretations of the grape a few years ago, especially those that fell in that $10 to $15 region.  I worked at a wine store and most Cabs I tasted were like cracked-out, Welch’s grape juice ejaculations (terrifying in Miami’s usual heat).

So, I started gravitating towards more shapely, intelligent wines - Côtes du Rhone, Willamette Valley Pinot Noirs and some California and Chilean-style Merlots.

Then in December, I had the 2005 Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley, and it blew my mind.  Shortly after, I attended a Michael Mina dinner, where I had the 2007 Lewis Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley with its tobacco, anise and fennel aromas and crème brûlée flavor. Then there’s the 2006 Stag’s Leap Wine Cellars Artemis I had during Wine & Dine & Design with its deep, purple color, fleshy body and black cherry, fig jam, rosemary, sweet basil, and fennel aromas and flavors.

Then, Ladies and Gentleman, while I was at Wine Spectator’s Best of the Best, I participated (deep breath) in a Diamond Creek Vineyards ménage a trois. Diamond Creek and Cabernet Sauvignon is like Jimmy Hendrix and his guitar, Kate Chopin and a pen. The 1998 Volcanic Hill smells of crème brûlée and tastes of red soil earth. The 2004 Volcanic Hill had this hypnotizing, royal purple color and tasted of cinnamons sticks and black cherry. I was so open. I was so completely seduced (and slight high), I wrote, “Absolutely no description necessary” for the 2004 Red Rock Terrace - the personification of delicious.

Now, these Cabs are not the slovenly, $10-$15 hoochies that drove me away. These are far more expensive, more captivating renditions. And it’s not that they, too, don’t have luscious booties. Miami’s recent climate coup d'etat that has left us paralyzed in jackets and boots IN MARCH definitely lends itself to big, warm, snuggle up-booty wines. So, I’m sure that’s part of my recent change.

As for Roy-The-Mean-One, I noticed some changes in him post four years of womb mining, his testimonies painted with phrases like “the miracle of birth,” “women’s bodies are so amazing” and “men don’t have a clue what the female body is worth.” Maybe, that’s why he can appreciate his generously framed, flibbertigibbet fiancé whose kindness and warmth completely betrays the nine hour shifts she spends with battered and abused children six days a week.

“I’m proud of you,” I tell him, as we watch the Oscars. “She’s a good girl.”

“Yeah. She’s the love of my life. Can’t imagine life without her. As long as she loses a couple pounds, we’ll be good to go.”

His fiancé is taking a shower during this conversation.

“And if she doesn’t?”

Gabourey “Gabby” Sidibe, the star of the movie Precious, appears on the screen.

“Now, she’s so fat, she shines. Plus, she’s dark, so she looks even worse,” he said. “You better never let yourself get like this.”

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