This weekend, we attended the Grape Escape, a showcase of food, wine, and liquor.  As usual, there was a mind-boggling and delicious array of food and booze.  As usual, we poured ourselves into a cab afterward and managed to maintain a semi-vertical orientation while we staggered into our house.

Many of the other attendees didn’t manage to stay even semi-vertical.  By the end of the four-hour event, bodies were propped against the walls, and I was saved from being crushed only because a garbage can intercepted the fall of the very tall man stumbling determinedly in my direction.

Considering that 2,500 shit-faced strangers are confined in one large hall for four hours, it’s a remarkably orderly event, probably due to the pairs of police officers sprinkled strategically throughout the venue.  We go every year, so none of this surprised me.

What did surprise me was the sheer number of seductively-dressed women in attendance.  I obviously failed to realize the hook-up potential of the show.  It was -20 outside.  I saw more exposed flesh there than at a Calgary beach in the middle of summer.  Not to mention 4”+ stiletto heels, which are truly entertaining when their wearer couldn’t walk a straight line if she was barefoot and holding two handrails.

The crowd was cheerful and all-embracing.  Literally.  I wore jeans, a T-shirt, hiking boots, and a wedding ring.  By the end of the event, guys even started coming onto me.  I’m not sure whether they couldn’t see straight enough to realize they weren’t talking to the cute young thing beside/behind me, or whether they just didn’t care that much anymore.  Gotta love beer goggles:  improving middle-aged women’s self-esteem since the invention of beer.

I felt sorry for the long-suffering vendors by the end of the night, though.  I’m pretty sure there were only a handful of us who were still capable of focusing both eyes on the label while they extolled the virtues of their Sauvignon Blanc.

Some of that was their own fault, though.  They were generous with their samples, and there were a couple hundred different kinds of beer, wine, liqueurs, and hard liquor.  Take even a mouthful of each, and you won’t make it around all the displays.  I speak from happy experience here.  Very happy.

I was delighted to discover some new favourite beers and wines, but I guess I missed the main point of the event, which was apparently to get pissed and get down.

I didn’t quite achieve “pissed”, but I was close.  Next year, I’ll try harder.  And maybe I’ll get myself some 4” stilettos, too.  It’s cheap amusement to see a guy’s expression when I peer down at him from a 6’2” height.  Fortunately, Hubby’s secure in his manhood, and at 5’7”, he doesn’t mind being eye-level with a couple of my more outstanding features.

And, hey, when you’re wearing heels that high, getting down at the end of the evening is a sure thing.  Who says four inches can’t be satisfying?