Freudian Slip?*

I just spent a wonderful weekend in DC with my aunt and uncle. They're two of my favorite people, and my fondest wish is to someday have a life very similar to the one they live. I have already fallen in love with a hilarious scientist, so i am halfway to filling my aunt's shoes. We were sitting at our/my favorite fancy French bistro, dining on some godfood discussing their recent stay at the Mandarin Oriental (heavenly DC hotel--as a birthday/anniversary celebration). Uncle: So there we are, enjoying an amazing, romantic, 11-course meal. Each course was two to three bites of heaven, paired with its own wine selection. The wine guy--" Aunt: Sommelier, Tony--that's what the 'wine guy' is called." Uncle: The sommelier would come over prior to each glass and tell us a bit about it--you know, the normal 'aged in oak barrels for x number of years' stuff. Well around the eighth or ninth course, he comes by. 'I think you'll enjoy this one. It's from South Africa, a crisp '98, with vaginal undertones.'" (This line, of course, was followed by a somewhat restrained spit-take from yours truly.) Self: "Um. 'Vaginal?'" Aunt and Uncle (in unison): I know! Uncle: We didn't know if we were drunk from 8 glasses of wine, or if that's actually what he said. We asked him to repeat himself, but it still sounded the same. Me: Well, um... did it? Have um those undertones? Uncle: Yeah, pretty much. I can't wait until I'm a cultured grown up and can go fancy places to drink vaginawine. *It should be noted that i desperately wanted to call this post 'Freudian Slit,' but that's vulgar and unladylike.