The rehearsal dinner for my daughter’s wedding was a grape crush, in which teams of guests got into barrels of grapes and tried to produce the most wine in the allotted time. I figured if I got into a barrel, I’d never get out, so I opted to watch and root for all of the teams equally. As night fell in Sonoma, the temperature dropped precipitously. If I were a grape, I’d ripen, but I happen to be a human being, so I just froze.
Fortunately, they brought out bathrobes for us spectators, and we were able to bundle up sylishly. The bathrobes, ironically, were made by a former client of mine, an entrepreneur who appears to control the spa and hotel bathrobe industry.
