Submitted by Sarah (UK)

Much as I adore my wine, I cannot help but feel a little resentful of it at times.

Yes, it has been my saviour through many a tough time and I feel guilty speaking ill of it when it has been such a loyal friend. But I see it much like I see the Oh So Perfect Friend. You know the type. Oh So Perfect Friend always looks immaculate, well dressed, never dishevelled. Oh So Perfect Friend never breaks down on the way to school and arrives in the playground covered in oil. Oh So Perfect Friend never walks into Tesco with her skirt tucked into her knickers, or drops her tampax in front of the sexy gym instructor, etc. etc.

As for wine…well it seems on paper we have very similar attributes.

Mature? Tick.

Full Bodied? Not half.

Fruity? Tick (Well, it has been known).

Rich in Colour? Oh yes, the menopause has a lot to answer for…

But somehow these qualities manage to be positives when referring to wine, though strangely lacking when applied to me. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s not exactly the wine’s fault—but when, at the end of a long and tiring day, I ease myself into my pyjamas whilst wondering if He Who Watches Football fancies “getting fruity” with his “full bodied” and “rich In colour” wife, I guess I can see the appeal of the glass of Red calling from the occasional table.

Friend or Foe? I’m still undecided so I give He Who Watches Football the last word.

“If you had to compare me to a wine, what would I be?” I purred…

“Dunno” He replied, “But I hope you’re on the Buy One Get One Free shelf…”