One Glass of Prosecco

Ah, prosecco. Good, isn’t it, prosecco? The lager of wines, fizzy and unthinking. You did not really know what prosecco was six years ago, and now you cannot move for it. “Bring the bottle!” you tell the waiter, cheerily, and they say: “We only bring them out by the glass.” “Bring another glass, then!” you say, and they say: “We only bring another glass when you’ve finished your existing glass.” So you maintain perfect eye contact and sink it in one. Bring me another prosecco, cunt.

This continues for 25 straight minutes, meaning you are four glasses down by the time the first bit of food arrives, and order one more to go with the pancakes. Everyone else around you appears to have come to brunch to actually talk, which seems profane. Silently, you nod for another prosecco – the waiter at least gets it now – and eat an eggy piece of toast. The room sways. You are fully drunk. It is not even 11AM.