I got mocked tonight. In a funny way. But mocked nonetheless.

I may have mentioned that I don't drink much. It makes me violently ill and goofy.

Unless red wine is around. Red wine, teasing me with its smooth, velvety texture and rich flavor. Red wine makes me want to move to Sonoma and use terms like "simple, yet voluptuous" and "cinnamon on the palate with a long finish of chocolate covered coffee beans."

Damn you, red wine.

I went to Doug's tonight. Doug is a long time member of the book club I recently joined. We decided to cancel our July and August book club meetings because too many members had conflicts, so Doug the Social Coordinator organized a lovely evening of cocktails followed by an excursion to an outdoor foreign film festival.

Three of us showed up, including Doug.

Doug fed us shrimp and cheese and crackers and he MADE me drink red wine. I didn't drink much, only three glasses, but for me, that is quite enough.

The film festival was ASS. The screen was tiny and we couldn't see the green subtitles over the mammoth head of the guy in front of us. The best part of the entire festival was the pseudo-karaoke contest they had prior to the film.

This is when I got mocked.

Now, I pride myself on being the Queen of Song Lyrics. I know almost every song ever written. By heart. But remember, I DRANK RED WINE.

So my memory wasn't so good. Doug and I were singing along with the people trying to win free crap and coming up with our own little ditties in our folding chairs. Actually, Doug had the folding Barcolounger, complete with foot and head rest. Hmph.

I was using my very best lounge lizard voice but I was screwing up all the fricking words. During our rendition of "Mack the Knife" I do believe I sang "never a TASTE of red" instead of "never a TRACE of red." See what I mean about the wine?

Doug and Robin found this quite amusing and decided the best course of action when we got in the car to leave would be just to turn the CD player up as loud as possible to drown me out.

Doug won't sing with me again until I get my act together and straighten out my lyrics. As long as he's not pouring red wine down my throat, I should be able to comply.

I am pretty tired from all the wine and song, so I think I'll just sing myself to sleep.

"Oh the shark has...pretty feet dear...and he shows them...pearly thighs..."