From Jane Austen who sadly is suffering with a broken leg.
Remember, every time you see a bunch of raisins it was the death of a potential bottle of wine. Raisins, wine abortion.
From Jane Austen who sadly is suffering with a broken leg.
Remember, every time you see a bunch of raisins it was the death of a potential bottle of wine. Raisins, wine abortion.
OK – someone is going to say it – Sour Grapes
Jane- hope you heal quickly. Did you break it raisin’ Hell?
Here’s a short story about Raisin Wine
Three separate men entered a bar where the waitresses were known to have short skirts. The establishment was famous for its raisin wine, which the bar kept on the top shelf.
The waitress, new at her job, approached the first patron. “What’ll it be?” she inquired of him. “Why, I’ll have the raisin wine,” he responded.
She move the ladder into position, climbed up and reached for the jug. Back down she came and poured his glass full. Back up the ladder she replaced the jug.
To the next patron she asked his preference for a drink. “Me too. I’ll have the raisin whine,” came his quick reply.
So once again she climbed the ladder and brought down the wine and poured his drink. She climbed back up to replace the jug of raisin wine to its place on the shelf.
Back down the ladder she turned and approached the third gentleman. “Raisin?” she asked.
He responded, “No, just twitchin’.”
That’s limp!