Here’s the thing: I do enjoy a cheeky red. Or a grunty red. I especially like a winter wine – you know, when you’re all rugged up with a book/kindle in hand and a smoooooth glass of red within easy reach? It almost makes winter bearable.
So it’s one of life’s injustices that all winter, every winter, I find myself fighting off colds, flus, and other vile ills. And I’ve tried that old kill-you-or-cure-you remedy, the one where you slug back alcohol in an attempt to drown the damn bug, and I’m here to tell you: It. Doesn’t. Work.
Ever.
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