I have committed my life to the
worship of a divine wine grape
which has made Oregon premature-
ly famous, and will foreseeably
forsake Burgundy for Sussex, in
view of climate change. My reli-
gious absorption in Pinot Noir
knows no borders, but is not
without its share of righteous
scruples which I accept a duty
to espouse. One is, that people
who would equate it with Sy-
rah may not have game I shoot
for it. I will sell anything,
but I will not trade in my be-
liefs simply to trade in birds.
This enchanting catechism
carries us back to the days
when a Mississippi hardware
dealer could refuse to sell
a hammer to a nonwhite cus-
tomer. True, he didn't claim
to worship hammers, but he
did claim to worship whites.
Now we have a baker who wor-
ships heterosexuality, and
we are all wondering how to
tell him he may still have
a fine opinion of heterosex-
uality, without burdening
the Commerce Clause of the
Constitution with it. One
should have thought he might
not wish to, but who can be
sure of any religion, when
pressed into public nuisance.
People are threatening to
take my faith in Pinot Noir
away from me, by demanding
one of my birds, brought low
by my own patience, skill,
wit, and investment in shot.
Need I say, I am American,
or this wouldn't come up.
I'd have the right to med-
ical help, and I'd get it.
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