Why I Choose Not to Celebrate Today

If you work as hard as I do, no doubt you saw that social media today was plastered with reminders that it was National Drink Wine Day. I had a few well-meaning acquaintances elbow me happily via email and text, asking if I was going to be getting in on the celebration. I don’t usually like to get outwardly political on the internet (I prefer to tweet ‘i can’t’ and hope that’s enough for people), but after having to somberly explain more than a few times that I do not, in fact, celebrate the holiday, I wanted to try to explain why.

First of all, this isn’t even National Wine Day. That’s something different that happens in May and so this is only a redundant knockoff. Contrary to what an idiot might tell you, wine is always for drinking. You don’t need to declare a day on which you specify you’re consuming wine rather than, what? Staring at it? Aging it? Grow up.

More importantly, this day is insulting on a deeply personal level. I don’t appreciate my favorite pastime being turned into a day when girls who can only handle Moscato sip it and act like they get it. Too many times have I stood in a bar clutching a glass of Sauv Blanc and had a dude slur up to me with the “oh I get it, you’re fancy” line. I’ve committed to hundreds, nay, thousands of instagrams and snapchats documenting my wine consumption. This isn’t a game, people. Olivia Pope only wears white clothing and drinks red wine as her sole beverage. Wonder if she’s partaking in NDWD. To some of us this is our livelihoods, goddamnit.

Would you ask a leprechaun if it celebrates St. Patrick’s Day by blacking out on whisky? Not unless you wanted to make an ass of yourself (leprechauns are always blacked out, that’s what makes them so hard to find, use your brain). I’m not going to be so ignorant as to assume the Easter Bunny only hides eggs and eats a fuck-ton of chocolate on the one day a year the rest of the world decides to jump on the bandwagon. I don’t stop every hipster on his bike on World Beard Day to giggle with him.

Who are you to take someone’s passion and slap pageantry on it once every 365 days so the rest of the world can read a listicle about it?* I didn’t understand what City High was singing about as a preteen listening to “What Would You Do?” but I sure as hell do now:

So for you this is just a good time, but for me this is what I call life.

So later, fairweather fans. I’ll be the one downing the 6-month’s stale Pinot Noir at the dive because I put value in a little thing I like to call commitment.

*No disrespect to listicles. As I (attempt to) foray into writing once again I will be relying heavily on the listicle. Always loved you, listicle. You’re the best.

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