Prune juice in a champagne flute, actually. A lovely glass -- it's stem like a twisted-vine --
I poured and then swirled it slowly to aerate.
The dark amber liquid suggested a fine port or aged sherry.
After all, prunes are a fruit! Are they inherently less aristocratic than grapes or pears or cherries -- some of the other similar essences so prized by connoisseurs?
Who cares if Sunsweet's Best hasn't spent years luxuriating
in a wooden cask?
What the dif if it doesn't bubble with effervesence? Does true effervesence arise from fermentation or from the person who drinks it?
Can't a person who sips liquer of dried plums be as charming as one who drinks dry champagne?
Advanced Age may not have many social perks. But, one of them surely has to be an ability to stare down embarrassment until it's transformed into what looks indubitably like wisdom, refinement, and yes, style.
At least that's what I tell myself.
