Impatience is a terrible thing. And as a widespread societal problem, I think it's getting worse.
It's likely the fault of Twitter. Or the iPhone 5. The micro-attention-span epidemic is likely linked to the instant-gratification mindset fostered by the tsunami of electronic diversions pouring down the pike.
At least, that's my theory.
Impatience is one of my faults. If we go to a movie or a restaurant and there's a lineup, I insist we make new plans. If someone blocks my path during the detestable chore of grocery shopping, I imagine their horrific and painful demise.
Not a very attractive trait, I'll admit.
This summer, I gave my wife an anniversary gift. It is The Everyday Guide to Wine, a 24-lecture course on wine on DVD. Each lecture is 30 minutes, so we're talking 12 solid hours of wine appreciation.
This is good, because my wife likes wine. Don't worry, she's not hitting the booze-can or anything. She just appreciates a decent glass. So, as you can imagine, purchasing The Everyday Guide to Wine was an incredibly thoughtful gesture on my part.
Watching the lectures is something we do together.
So instead of seeing, say, a thrilling action movie on a Friday night, we'll settle down to view an educational episode of The Everyday Guide to Wine. It's taught by Jennifer Simon-etti-Bryan, who is a "master of wine." It's a lofty qualification, as there are only 26 masters of wine in the U.S.
For the first lecture, we purchased, as instructed, two whites: a French Chablis and South Australian chardonnay.
"Great," I said, popping in the DVD, uncorking each bottle and settling onto the couch. "Let's get down to drinking."
"No," said my wife. "We can't just drink all willy-nilly. We have to follow the instructions."
To me, this seemed to sap all pleasure out of the exercise. What is the point of a wine course if not to drink wine?
A fundamental flaw in The Everyday Guide to Wine soon became apparent. This Simonetti-Bryan seemed like a nice lady, but it takes her forever to get around to the drinking part. Instead, there was endless talk of how she'd developed her ultra-knowledgeable palate.
Simonetti-Bryan then discussed how wine comes in lots of different colours: ruby, garnet, brick, tawny and the like. Finally - finally - we were permitted to swirl the wine in our glasses, to allow for oxidation and the release of intoxicating odours.
But could we drink? No. We had to hold our wine glasses at waist level while we inhaled. Then a bit higher up. And then finally to our noses.
I was starting to feel like the guy who lands a date with a supermodel. Then he spends all evening listening to her tell stories about being a supermodel. And as fascinating as these tales are, what he'd really like to get to is the part of the evening that makes a date with a supermodel truly worthwhile.
By now, fruit flies were flying into our wine glasses. Dive-bombing in fact. It was like Calcutta in June. These flies, perhaps realizing Simonetti-Bryan was going to yabber on and on, were having a wine-guzzling bonanza - then drunkenly waving their pals over with their tiny fruit-fly wings.
Without further ado, I downed my glasses of French Chablis and South Australian chardonnay.
After all, we had finally reached the part where Simonetti-Bryan instructs us to "sip and savour."
"You're supposed to 'sip and savour,' " said my wife.
"Don't worry," I said, seizing the bottle of Chablis for a refill. "I am."
Next week, we're going to learn about "noble rot," which is when grapes are infected with Botrytis cinerea, a dehydrating grape fungus. I can't wait. Or rather, I can. For patience is a virtue.
