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If you've tried alcohol, you might remember the first time as some rebellious choice,

or as part of some holiday ritual like champagne at New Year's, or it could have been by accident.

I had mine in the middle of winter,

somewhere around this time of year. I was only about eight or nine, and a snowstorm had hit

the tiny town I lived in along Washington State's border with Canada. The power had been

knocked out, and the house was freezing. So my mom gathered me and my brother and my sister

and gave us a tiny sip of cognac to keep us warm.

Telling it now, it kind of feels like something out of a novel.

But if you're Katie Wu, that first sip can also be pretty mundane.

I vaguely remember taking that little errant sip of wine at some dinner party my parents had when I was a kid.

I don't think that did anything to me except make me go, I'm spitting this out.

Years later, Katie finally tried another drink.

Because I was a very, very, very well-behaved high schooler.

And I sort of already knew what was coming because I had watched my parents get extremely red and goofy and sweaty and warm every time they went out and had sake or red wine.

I knew what was likely in my future.

Like clockwork, when Katie started to sip that drink in college, her face bloomed red.

I would compare myself to a human stop sign or if Rudolph's nose was the entirety of my face.

Like truly the warmth blooms from my cheeks and then spreads all over and even starts to creep down my neck.

You can see it from across the room.

Yeah.

For me, it gets splotchy, you know?

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