Two Times I Wasn’t A Feminist
And they both involved Pappy Van Winkle.
For 99 percent of my life, I’m a card-carrying feminist. I get off on RBG’s twitter whilst playing 4 Non Blondes, and I keep a copy of The Feminine Mystique by my bedside.
When I need motivation I chant Gloria Steinem to manifest my best life.
The truth will set you free, but first, it will piss you off.
I once got pregnant on purpose and immediately had an abortion. Then I threw a not-baby shower just to prove I could.
All that to say that I’m most definitely a badass feminist.
But I’m not perfect. I can’t resist my kryptonite: spendy whiskey. Pappy Van Winkle in particular. It’s like I can’t see straight when I’m around that shit.
The first time it happened I was on a date with Bob at Ringside in Downtown Portland. We’d been hanging out for several months and always split the bill. Anywho, so we shared a wagyu beef burger and a basket of truffle fries. We also each had a couple shots of Angel's Envy neat.
And that was all well and good until the Sommelier got bored with recommending the Screaming Eagle cab and offered us a selection of Pappy. I was already tipsy so I made a poor choice and shared 5 rounds of Special Reserve 12 year Mr. Van Winkle.
