Sweet grapes

People of blogland, I have to tell you about last Sunday.
My Special Lady Friend was visiting. I’m very fortunate, because she often visits. If I plead and wring my hands in a sufficiently convincing manner, she even spends the night. (I won’t tell you what she agrees to do when I get down on my knees.) So, yes, my SLF was visiting, we were in the middle of some serious hanging out, when she foraged into her bag and said, casually – oh by the way, I have a present for you. Before I had time to do my usual little excited dance she’d pulled out a bottle – I might not be materialistic, yet the word ‘present’ is nearly pavlovian- ‘Here’, she said with studied nonchalance.
I gasped.
How?
Where?
Wow!
I nearly got down on my knees then, you know.
Vendanges Tardives, the best goddamn wine in the whole world, people!
She’d found some.
She made it sound like it was easy. Just something she’d picked up after work.
After I tied her to the chair and threatened to torture her, I got the whole story. She’d been trying to trace it for weeks, had ordered it online and had just gone into an infinitely posh shop to collect it.

We drank it then we went for a walk along the river.
We met six months ago, you know.
Santé.