Prayers of Sinners
I’m mostly disappointed this wine didn’t take the opportunity to cost $6.66, but this world is an imperfect world and so is this wine. I’m not sure what I expected. I grabbed this bottle a little too eagerly. As you may have noticed, I am easily swayed by ridiculous wine labels.
Another bold medley. I’ll remember this one for years to come. When I’m on my deathbed and I’m croaking out the words, “bring me the Prayers of Sinners,” I won’t be speaking in cryptic, religious riddles. I’ll be demanding a mediocre but hilarious wine. It’s elevated slightly above the usual swill, with an unplaceable sensation that flagellates my mouth. Is it the crushing guilt and existential pain that comes with being human? Or is it the uncomfortable combination of nutmeg and tar? I drank the entire bottle this time, and I can’t complain about the hangover. It felt well-deserved. Penitent, even. I can still taste the musky undertones.
I hate doing this, but I have to revisit the label. The wording is so obnoxiously sensual. I’ve never had an explicitly horny wine before this one. I can’t even compare it to kinky fun – it’s more of an, “um, just keep the Tupperware, I’m going to head out,” kind of kinky fear that plagues all women in their 30s. If you’re alone and feeling randy, throw on a priest’s collar and start drowning your sorrows with the Prayers of Sinners. It’s the only road to brief enlightenment.