HIM: Honey, have you seen the Rabbit?
HER: Which one?
HIM: What do you mean, which one? The Rabbit. It’s black, has clamps as ears, a lever on top, big Teflon screw… Art wants to do a Pinot-palooza during the barbecue. I promised I’d bring the über-corkscrew.
HER: Ah, you mean your Rabbit.
HIM: Well, I’m okay with calling it our Rabbit. I’m a good sharer.
HER: You’re forgetting that I have a Rabbit too. It’s black and shiny and makes me very…hoppy! Kind of like a Penis-palooza, without the penis.
HIM: Ohhhh, that Rabbit.
HER: Yes, and I think I’d take my Rabbit over your Rabbit any day.
HIM: Even if my Rabbit is about to uncork an awesome Williams-Selyem Russian River Pinot Noir?
HER: A-yup. Sex trumps wine.
HIM: Really. Every time?
HER: Every time. You disagree?
HIM: Well…it depends on the wine.
HER: No way. I cannot believe I am hearing this. You are saying that you’d pick knocking back some wine to knocking boots with me…
HIM: I didn’t say that! All I… what I’m trying to say is that great wine can be as… as stimulating as sex.
HER: So if I whisper Haut-Brion 1989 in your ear you’ll pop a stiffy?
HIM: Well, maybe not right away. The ’82, on the other hand–
HER: Holy Burgundy, you are not kidding!
HIM: Hey, to paraphrase Robert Parker, drinking great wine is an exercise in hedonism.
HER: Well, I can give you five reasons why hedonistic sex is better than hedonistic wine.
HIM: OK, shoot.
HER: Only if you promise to come up with five reasons wine is better than sex.
HIM: Er, OK. You first.
HER: All right. Sex is free. Wine is expensive!
HIM: Good point.
HER: You can do it legally before you’re 21.
HER: You can do it in a car.
HIM: Not lately, but OK. I’ll remind you about that someday.
HER: Aha! Sex burns calories!
HIM: Good. That’s four…
HER (thinking): In bed, 69 is a good number!
HIM: Nice work, horny lady. Thanks for reminding me why I’m so lucky to be with you.
HER: Alright, flattery will get you nowhere today, buddy. Gimme five good reasons why drinking wine is better than sex.
HIM: You can do it in public!
HER: Indeed you can.
HIM: You can drink it with multiple people!
HER: Oh yes, I forgot you’re allergic to orgies.
HIM: It’s good for your circulation.
HER: Hey, so is sex. I’m tossing that one out.
HIM: Fine, nitpicker. Drinking wine means never having to worry about birth control.
HER: Eh… debatable, but we’ll let it slide.
HIM: If you find a wine you like, you can buy it by the case and it will always be there, ready for… ahem, action.
HER: Weak. I’ll allow you to withdraw that one rather than leave it as unnecessary criticism of my sexual availability—which, I remind you, is quite variable….
HIM: Size doesn’t matter.
HIM: Size doesn’t matter. You know, like the size of the bottle. Or the size of the winery…
HER: You are so grasping. The size-doesn’t-matter line works for my side of the debate—if it applies at all. And anyone who’s having a dinner party knows that size does matter: a magnum pours twice the wine of a normal bottle.
HIM: OK, here’s my last shot. If you forget the name of a wine you had last night, it’s fine. If you forget the name of a lover, you are in deep shit.
HER (laughing): Good one, you wine gigolo, you.
HIM: I had one more, too, but I knew you’d say it’s true of sex too.
HER: Oh yeah? Try me.
HIM: Wine gets better with practice… and, obviously, so does sex.
HER: Is that your idea of a come-on? You’re going to have to do better than that.
HIM: OK, would you like to see the etchings in my wine cellar?
HER: Too bad I know your wine cellar is a big cabinet that’s already full of sexy bottles.
HIM: Hey, I can sidle down to that cellar and pick out what-evvverrrrr bottle of wine I want…and have my way with it.
HER: Yeah, you sure can. And that’s pretty damn unfair.
HIM: How’s that?
HER: Someone who drinks lots and lots of wine gets called a connoisseur. Someone who has a lot of sexual partners is called a slut.
HIM: Ouch. Good point.
HER: So much for equality in hedonism.
HIM: So should we call this a draw… and celebrate?
HER: Nope, I win. You’re forgetting one small but crucial reason why sex is better than wine.
HIM: Which is…
HER: I can prove it.
HER: Yep. You, me, that bottle of Pinot, in the bedroom, right now. No Rabbits allowed.
HIM: How am I going to open the wine?
HER: Oh, isn’t that a shame. You’re going to have a pretty tough time proving wine is better than sex if you can’t get the bottle open.
HIM: Right, you are. I can live with that.
HER: And it’s just as well, ’cause wine stains are a lot tougher to get out of the sheets.
HIM: OK, let’s go do some research…
HER: Deal. And, by the way, your Rabbit is in the kitchen, in the big drawer with the pots and pans. Where it usually is when you leave it out and I put it away…
HIM: Thanks for the tip. Meanwhile, by the way, remember that Laguiole corkscrew I picked up last summer in Paris? If I’m not mistaken, it’s in my sock drawer.
HER: Then you’d better bring that Pinot….
## XXXOOO ##