It’s 96 degrees outside, and your thighs have become one with the car’s leather seat. Pools of perspiration expand like inkblots across your breeziest shirt. And it’s only 9 a.m.
You fantasize about what you’ll sip at the end of the day. An icy margarita? A frosty mug of pilsner? As your air conditioner condenses humid air into a visible fog, the answer becomes clear: Red wine.