The enemy of my enemy is my...frenemy. Forged in the whirring depths of the magical frosé machine, will this newfound frozen fren-ship last past Labor Day?! Only time will tell. So rise up from your barstools, frosé frens, and cheers your glasses to rosy, slushy flows that never stop. May you ride your buzz into battle, uniting against a common enemy: Chardonnay. "Go peddle that passéoaky nonsense somewhere else, sweetheart!"
