Mimosa Mama

Sunday

Tried a new champagne yesterday.  A spendy one.  Veuve Clicquot (pronounced Vuv Klee Coh’ as far as I can tell).

Veuve Cliquot is a French champagne, and not being a great fan of the French (mostly because they are snobby and try to force the rest of the planet to call their champagnes ‘sparkling wine’), it’s not something I intend to drink a lot of.  Oh, ya, and it’s like a $70 bottle I caught on sale for $45, which is FAR outside of this working woman’s budget.  I only bought it because Eldon gave me some of his allowance and told me to pick out a nice bottle for us to try. (plus I’m gonna keep the receipt and try to write it off on my taxes!)

Was it good?  Absolutely.  Was it worth $45?  Not on your life.

If I won the lottery last night, as is likely because I’ve got two tickets on my dishwasher this very moment, I will not waste my winnings on ‘fine’ champagne.  I will stick with my Korbel (who are grandfathered in, so the Frenchies let them call their wine “champagne.”  Man those snobs fry my fanny!).

Last summer at a golf tournament, one of my teammates introduced me to a woman and told her about Mimosa Mama, because apparently this woman is a big champagne drinker.  The first thing she let me know was that she only drank Veuve Clicquot.  (la tee dah!)

It is quite common, when people meet me and we discuss champagne, for them to try to impress me with the fancy brands they drink.  Champagne drinkers have traditionally been snobby, and if you know me at all you know that I could give a rat’s ass about image.  If I sense that you are hung up on it at all, I end up sitting back and observing you in an amused fashion, thinking about how insecure you must be to try to convince others of your status.

Enough about that.  I write quite extensively on the subject in my book, and if you haven’t read that, well, frankly, how can I possibly like you?  Nope.  I don’t.

So my niece posted the hint of a family story on facebook yesterday, and it had her dad, my brother “David,” all upset.

You see, we had a party at brother “Rob’s” house a couple of years back.  It was a doozy.  Actually, I didn’t show up until Saturday morning, and all the fun happened on Friday night, so all I got were the stories.  Stories of barfing.

As I recall, one of my nephews was puking in the kitchen sink.  I think there was a garbage disposal, but even so you must admit that’s a pretty hairy mess to clean up.

That wasn’t the funny story though.

Brother David puked on the floor in the dining room.  When he got up the next morning he denied being the one to do it.  But it didn’t exactly take a team of CSI agents to recognize that when he blew his groceries all over the place, his false teeth followed.  THAT’S funny right there!

Ya, David.  Pretty sure that’s your teeth teetering atop that pile o puke.  Get your sorry ass in there and clean it up.  Maybe scrub those puke-soaked pearly whites before you pop them back in.

So he’s mortified that she would share that with the planet on her facebook wall, and I thought to myself, “Speaking of sharing that story, why have I not let the rest of the world in on this little gem?”

Oh what fun to come from such a colorful family.  So much to share.  So little time!