Chicken wings, chips, salsa, beer all lay about in front of the TV. As I and the rest of the crew began our 'evening' and the Leafs were doing their best to maintain even the generous title of 'team', a thought occurred to me. Maybe it was the wings, maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was the txt message I got from another friend asking me to come to a wine and cheese party, but something gave me the urge to wonder.
I've been to wine and cheese parties before no doubt, but in general, I'd say that wings and beer are more my typical fare. And so in my mind I created this division. Two choices, two periods of one's life, and of course the line that divided them.
When do you reach across that line, grab hold the stem of a bulbous chalice of merlot, and have no desire to let go? You look back at the beer and wings, but maybe they don't look nearly as appetizing anymore. Maybe those wings look a bit greasy now... maybe the wings don't look nearly as scrumptious as those grapes painted in goat cheese and encrusted with crushed pistachio nuts? Perhaps your merlot, full bodied and smooth, with hints of black currant and wild spices seems an smidgeon more succulent than your ale over there.
Well it may. At some point it may. Or maybe it won't? It's perfectly plausible that as we move through life we simply enjoy these two different pairs at separate times. Separate venues.
But that's not what interests me... I want to know about the margin. The two, five, ten, twenty percent of the time that you, or anyone, choses one over the other.
There's got to be a lean to one side. However unconscious, however minute, there's always a preference.
And why not then a line to cross? A point in time when you've had more of one than the other?