Samara white wine 180 bucks in a green bottle, take a bow. Don’t hog the whole stage though, leave some room for this blog, since it is this blog that I have returned to under your influence, fighting off dearblankpleaseblank and textsfromlastnight, the two undisputed linchpins of the season.
Why, you ask, have I adopted you though, especially since I seem to have arrived in life – enough to start thinking disdainfully of the Borivali local and sticking only to the Andheri variety? You are cheap, you taste like cough syrup, and you do not even have a name that is difficult to pronounce. But you are in many ways like this blog – a convenient means to an unglamorous end. A bit like my early morning date with the commode whose seat could do with a repair job, but whose unflattering touch makes me feel all’s well with the world nonetheless. Nothing in comparison to how I felt on those profligate afternoons back from Alibaug and taking a dump in the Taj loo, but 15 stations closer and that much more instantly gratifying.