Ellicottville, Girls Getaway, part three (The Conclusion...thank goodness. The blog submissions are longer than the actual week-end!)

I'm not sure how I actually got signed up for a wine-tasting. I don't even like wine. All the clues were there...I was in a wine store. There were glasses. A bar. I'm not sure when I heard the shouted words, "Amy...do you want to...muffle muffle muffle" while I was in the bathroom, that I would translate the message to "sample an assortment of chocolates" or "go horseback riding in an indoor heated ring down the road" or even "watch a marathon of How I Met Your Mothers." How silly I felt when I realized I'd committed myself to an hour of imbibement. I guess we all have those moments.

FLASHBACK #1:  Geri, confused about the (kind of) new tradition of gender-revealing baby shower cakes, sought further clarification from our baker-friend Deb: "So you don't actually give them the cake until AFTER the baby is born?" We all stared at Geri.

FLASHBACK #2: After referring to the song in conversation, I tried to hum the French National anthem on the darkened streets of Ellicottville and instead broke into the Marine fight song. You just can't beat the red, white, and blue out of this girl.

FLASHBACK #3:  Discussing the possible visit to a nearby arboreum, my trivia-loving friend, Geri asked, "Are there flowers there too?" I paused, my white chocolate hot chocolate mug an inch from my lips, "Arbor: Latin for tree," before taking a warm sip. Kathy, sitting across from me, realized that she was a witness to history and leaned across to offer me a high five. "Did that feel good," she asked.

At the wine-tasting, I ended up next to connoisseur and hotel bed-maker, Deb. Thus far in the trip, I had proven to be a colossal disappointment to her, opting for elastic waistband dachshund jammies at 7:30 pm rather than going out. Although I was determined to do better, I felt compelled to warn her:  "I have the palate of a 3rd grader," I confessed. The wine sampling list is designed to fool you. I immediately signed up for selections that promised dancing tastebuds, hallucinations, and instant toe-curling orgasms. Talk about false advertising! I could over-hear my friend Bev at the opposite end raving about how her sample tasted just like blueberries so I hollered down the line to find out her selection pick but Deb wouldn't let me change my list, claiming that I had to learn how to act like an adult sometime. On top of that, she made me drink double...tasting from my list and hers! I tried to sneak down to Bev who was now happily raving about her grape-y tasting wine. "Stay here," Deb insisted, "I'll take you to Tops later if you want grape juice."  Then it was time to actually buy a bottle of wine. Deb picked it out. I thought she was going to kick us out of the suite later when Bev showed me her technique for drinking wine as she mixed it, 20/80 with diet Sprite.

After that fiasco, Deb ditched me while we were shopping. Fortunately, my friend Sandy stepped in. I was wrestling over an elegant turkey-shaped decanter and a clay, feather-bedecked turkey craft. "The decanter would make for an elegant centerpiece for your Thanksgiving table," Sandy mused, "reflecting your sophistication and grace as a hostess." I smiled. Sandy knew me so well. "The turkey...craft," she said, at a loss for what else to call it, "is whimsical and fun." She paused. "Which one do you think fits your personality better," she asked me. Well...that was a no-brainer. I bought my little clay turkey and didn't realize until I'd gotten home that I had bought the opposite of an elegant, sophisticated centerpiece. I had purchased a centerpiece fit for a feather-brained clown. So much for learning how to act like an adult.