Molly drinking merlot for some reason conjures the image of him splayed out in a harem-style den with colorful tapestries and smoke hanging in the air, lazing comfortably atop plush jewel-toned pillows, wearing a chiffon robe tied delicately at the waist and nothing underneath, all while holding a glass roughly the size of his head and giving his most alluring “come hither, I dare you” smile
See, mental images like that remind me that I am not a lesbian and am in fact pan as all the hells