It was an early Tuesday afternoon when I got a call from my friend Becky, who told me that the Women’s Wine Club was hosting a tasting of rare and excellent Italian white wines at 6:00 p.m. at a new, posh bistro. You can’t attend if you have something dangling between your legs, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I went to my big and pleasantly plump cousin’s house and broke in – Martha always left a key under the welcome mat. I borrowed a yellow polka-dot dress, a pair of sky-blue spiked heels, make-up, a long, ash-blonde wig and plenty of padding, and transformed myself from Frank, the wine guy to Fran, the wine gal.

After turning myself into the ultimate ugly female, I was careful not to gaze into a mirror, to avoid cracking it. I left a note explaining everything and an 18-pack of Coors.

As I waddled up the street to my orange truck, I noticed that I didn’t get whistled at by the construction workers sawing wood across the dusty street.

Arriving at the bistro, I received a few stares and several giggles, but I hardly noticed them because it was so difficult and painful walking in tight heels with my giant feet. I spoke in a high falsetto and was trying to be in tune with my feminine side as I plunked down my $25 for the tasting and received a blue Hello sticker that read: Fran, wine buyer.

I overheard conversations that were mostly about good wine and beautiful sex – these ladies aren’t getting enough of either, I thought. I stood mostly in the corner, feeling my five o’clock shadow underneath my pancake make-up and downing a flute of Pommery brut.

When the tasting began, I sat between a lovely blonde girl, who was about 28 and had a permanent smile on her face, and a business-type 50-year-old brunette that couldn’t stop laughing. It was a small tasting, with about 30 women in attendance.

The first wine, one of my favorites, was Vernaccia di San Gimignano, the great Tuscan white wine that is like a white version of chianti. Golden in color, it is tangy and creamy with hints of salted nuts; but, like all great Italian white wines, it is fragrant and delicate.

For the first time in my life I saw my lipstick on my wine glass and was a bit horrified. I got over it when I received a glass of Verdicchio dei Castelli, considered the finest Italian white wine to consume with seafood, from the Marche region. The wine is very crisp in the glass, the color is slightly golden with a slight greenish tinge, and it has a slightly nutty flavor. It matched well with the shrimp appetizer. The unique green bottle is amphora-shaped. It was lovely.

I blushed when my favorite Italian white wine was presented – Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio. The wine is from the Campania region, in which lies Naples, long known for its volcanic beauty and fine wines. According to lore, when God cast Satan out of heaven, Satan crash-landed near Naples, creating the Bay of Naples beneath him. God cried when he saw the beauty of the landscape, and grape vines grew in his tear puddles – hence Lacryma Christi, “the tears of Christ.”

The next vino was another great Italian white called Tocai Friulano, which is an engaging, well-structured wine with flavors of toasted hazelnut cream, green apple, oil and dates. Tocai has a beautiful finish. The area of Friuli is in the northeastern part of Italy, near what was once called Yugoslavia. This cold-weather area is perfect for growing pinot grigio, Riesling, gewürztraminer, pinot bianco, sauvignon blanc and chardonnay. The area vineyards produce fruits of such delicacy and complexity that they rival Burgundy and Alsace. Friuli and it sub-appellations, Collio and Isonzo, comprise a white-wine Garden of Eden.

The last wine in the tasting was the sweet heaven of Moscato d’Asti. The wine is made with the famous Moscato grape, also known as Muscat, the chief varietal in the very popular Asti Spumante – a very sweet bubbly. The wine also can be made lightly sparkling, which is called frizzante and is low in alcohol – about 7 percent – and has a honeysuckle flavor. The wine we were served was a rich and delightfully sweet dessert wine.

The tasting started like a church meeting, with little noise, and ended sounding like a saloon in an old Western movie. I was still feeling together, even after drinking more than my fair share of wine. I grabbed a half-open bottle of Tocai Friulano, pushed in the cork and made my way home, where Fran would disappear into a closet and Frank would make his triumphant return.