Table Wine Puns

As they sit down, the husband offers to go get their dinner. First he waits in line for the roast beef. Then he waits in the line for the potatoes. He he waits in the vegetable line, the bread line, the salad line, and even the gravy line.

He finally returns to the table with two heaping plates of food. “What would you like to drink?” he asks.

“A glass of punch would be nice,” she says. So off he goes to get it. He finds a line for wine, a line for beer, a line for soda, a line for milk, even a line for water. After considering all of his options he gives up and returns to the table empty-handed.

Sometimes there is no punch line.

About to throw some meat on the grill and said "I'm so glad we're married." She asked me why, and I replied, " so this won't be a miss-steak." I think I'm eating alone tonight.

UPDATE: she decided to meat me at the table, grill me about my sense of humor and wine about how I wasn't funny. At least my daughter likes my puns.

Today at the dinner table, my family and I were discussing wine when my brother says "Yes, but I find wine to be foul!"

My dad, from across the table chimes in "I personally find chicken to be fowl."

A wave of groans and chuckles ensued.

Picture this.

A fancy Christmas dinner party at his new wife's opulent, sandstone estate house. Plates are being cleared from the lengthy, mahogony table that seats the fourteen well-to-do guests, the main course having just finished. All have feasted gloriously on our Christmas fare.

My Dad, playing the good host, picks up two bottles of wine, one white and one red, and proceeds to do a round of the table, chatting amiably with everyone as he circles. Those whose glasses are less than 90% full, he proceeds to top-up. I am sitting in the very centre of the long table, seated directly opposite a very well off lady in her early sixties, by the name of Margaret. My dad, having just topped off my glass, is now standing directly behind me.

This older woman, full of grace and charm, looks to my Dad and says, "Thank you so much for this glorious meal, John. It's been simply divine."

My Dad, "Not at all, Margaret, not at all. Could I charge your glass?"

Margaret, "Oh, no no, thank you. I've got the bottle in front of me!"

My Dad, quick of wit, and with a sneaky - yet charming - grin on his face, responds, "Ah, well, better that than a frontal lobotomy!"

I've never been more proud of him.

The entire table was embroiled in a detailed conversation on their wine preferences, red vs. white, how pinot grigio was sometimes too dry, etc. Her dad asked, Know what my favorite wine is? I hate having to pay taxes!

So, I asked my dad (who swears social media is evil) if he knew what Vine was.

pointing to the wine on the table, in a German accent, he says "Yes, do you vant some?"

At the dinner table, empties a bottle of wine.

Now thats what I call a dry white.

Every time.