No, no. That wasn't me who met you at that club. That was my cousin. My identical, one year younger cousin. I'm Socré Barbaresco, she's Socré Barbaresco Roncaglie.
I don't mean to sound like I don't appreciate the attention, because you seem very nice. It's just that I don't know you, and we've just met, so I can't possibly... well, maybe she gave you my number as a joke, or maybe she just figured we'd hit it off. It's not you. I'm just not in a position right now where I even know what I want.
See, Socré Barbaresco Roncaglie is Italian, just like me, and that means we love life to the fullest. But she's more of a flirty type, with notes of violet and rose wood. She's medium bodied too, while I'm more balanced and long. She wouldn't be caught dead aligning cherry, strawberry and licorice, but I'm known for that in the circles where I run.
Which, obviously, aren't the same as yours. Not that I'm meaning that as an insult, or anything. This isn't your fault at all. I'm just not the Socré Italian Barbaresco you thought you knew.
No, honestly! I'm from 2007 and she's from 2008! We might seem the same, but we're not at all. Here's a good example: I got 90 points from Wine Spectator and Wine Advocate, and she got 93 points from Robert Parker. She's more ready for the now, shall we say, whereas I prefer to go slow. I'll age nicely until 2020, you see, so I'm in no rush, but her? Who knows what she'll be up to tomorrow!
Really, I'm sorry. She's done this before. I wish I could do more but-
-well, you're just not my type. Sorry! Nothing personal! And please, don't blame Roncaglie. She's just got a wild side that no one could ever tame.
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