Has A Different Port Of Call

(It’s the weekend and my younger brother and I are catching up on TV shows with our parents. We’re both of the legal age to drink in small amounts at home.)

Dad: *to me* “This is a nice port, quite sweet. You should try it!”

Me: “No, thanks.”

Dad: “Go on. You won’t know if you like it if you don’t try it!”

(It should be noted at this point that the quest to find an alcoholic drink that I actually like is a bit of an ongoing thing in my home. I roll my eyes and oblige, taking his glass from him.)

Dad: *to my mum* “Do you remember your parents ever having to say ‘go on, try it!’?”

Mum: “No.”

(I take a sip and my face immediately scrunches up. I start coughing and spluttering as soon as I pass the glass back, eyes watering. The taste in my mouth is absolutely foul.)

Dad: “Oh, come on. It can’t possibly be that bad!”

Mum: *passing her drink to my brother* “Here, you try it. What do you think?”

Brother: *shrugs and mumbles something about it being sort of sweet*

Me: “I just must not like alcohol, okay?”

(My parents share a look, and then:)

Dad: “Must be a defective gene.”

Mum: “I agree.”