“Bottoms up!” myself cries back, lustily.
The thing is… a glass of wine, be it white or red, is (simply put): a gift from the Gods, to a woman.
Oh I’m not saying, or advocating that you should slug back bottles of the stuff, or luxuriate in huge over-indulgence by any means. But oh boy. After a tough working day/argument with your husband/teenage offspring or the local supermarket manager etc. etc., then just one, decent glass of vino is what can, and frequently will – save the day.
Mightily.
It can stop my head from exploding; my heart from shrinking; my legs from running me far, far away to the other side of the planet or my arms from picking up a cabbage and flinging it at a wall or (on a more hormonal day) someone’s head.
Phew! There we go. Got that out.
It’s just been one of the those days, you see. A day when every possible irritation that’s been lurking sneakily inside my head for weeks decided to pop out and confront me. All at the same time, as in:
- I’m lacking in mobility for over six months now (knee operation). Yesterday I tried walking from a parking garage to a department store in a small town – a happy little act I used to do without even thinking about it – and ended up hobbling slowly back to my car like a 90 year old. Who’s having a very bad day – no fun.
- I’m fighting battalions of furious hormones (menopause) for a few months now – who knew?!
- Broke. And worried about what’s next for us, financially.
- Not working (because of knee), and still missing, missing, missing my professional life.
- Childishly irritated with my husband today, who spent all of it doing tasks which (rationally) I know needed to be done but (hand on heart) I really just wanted him to postpone, so we could elongate the summer feeling. Hold onto a sense of fun, freedom and lowered responsibility etc. for a few more glorious days.
When all was said and done (and trust me, I said plenty) and there’s now little chance of anything changing for the remainder of the day – I have given up and poured myself a glorious, rich, burgundy red glass of Bordeaux, from our secret stash of ‘good bottles’ brought back from France last summer. I’ve walked out to my garden and, with the late afternoon rays of the sun gently caressing my back, breathed in its heady bouquet (ecoutez moi!) and taken a slow and pleasurable sip.
And … oooh lala!! Just one swallow and already I’m feeling milder, more mellow. Two and I decide to stay out here and chill for a bit. Let myself ‘hang’. And why not.
“Pourquoi pas“, say I out loud, to no one in particular. Far cheerier than I was ten minutes ago.
“Bottoms up!” myself cries back. Lustily.
Thank you Bordeaux, and the entire wine producing region of la belle France. You and your beautiful vineyards. Merci beaucoup, mes amis. Et Salut!