It’s not every day that I’m inspired to tell a story about wine…(let’s be real, it’s more like every other day)…but Thursday morning, the day before the entire Christmas weekend fiasco began, here’s what happened: I had made 50% of the gifts that needed to be wrapped the day before, I had slept less time than it takes to sit through Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro, and to top it off, my legal department needed 60 mini cupcakes ordered, picked up, and displayed prettily by noon. As a coworker of mine would say, it was time for a beverage. It was 9:15 a.m.
And then, from the heavens (or the business intelligence department), a voice from behind asked me, “Would you like a mimosa? We have leftovers from our morning meeting.”
…. (pause, as I wondered if I was hearing things)
“Yes, yes I would.”
The mimosa. It’s like Emergen-C, just more fun. You got your orange juice, you got your bubbly…but where’d it come from?
Eh, who cares, probably some overindulgent waiter thought he’d have some fun on an ordinary Sunday brunch.
Whatever its origin, the invention of the mimosa made my morning that Thursday – and throughout the weekend. You may be wondering, how is this possible? Well, it’s true, I spend my weekend mornings at the Ritz-Carlton before adopting third-world orphans and hosting blow-out parties in Vegas. But this weekend, I decided to kick back and put my glamorous life on hold and keep it real. So, I bought a bottle of Yellow Tail Bubbly and calcium-enriched extra-pulp OJ on Friday, and like sneaky old Santa Claus himself, hid it in my fridge to enjoy the next morning. Now, before you get off thinking I’m some sort of boozehound, this particular bottle has a new, inventive cork called the “Zork,” which reseals the bottle and maintains gas pressure within, so I’m able to save some for later. Finally, right?
Not gonna lie, there’s something special about popping open a bottle of sparkling wine at 10:00 a.m. and drinking a mimosa while watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on your day off from work. Just enough kick to get me back on my Christmas projects without the stress. So, I just stuck the bottle back in the fridge to use for later.
Later came that night before going to my company’s giant holiday party. I opened the bottle (complete with satisfying *pop*), toasted to good looks and sweet dance moves, and started my night off with a bang.
The next morning, however, started with a whimper. Ouch. We’ve all been there. It took me up until about 3:00 p.m. to decide to try out that “hair of the dog” theory on the last of that bubbly in the fridge and some orange juice. Even after being opened three times, that bottle gave me the healing bubbles I didn’t even know I wanted. Didn’t take more than 15 minutes for that mimosa to tell my headache to get the hell out of Dodge; ladies and gentlemen, I was cured.
So, in a span of three days, here’s what the mimosa did for me: it saved my work, it saved Christmas, and it saved me from a full-day hangover. What can it do for you? Well, tomorrow it’s the Friday before the New Year: I say, go ahead and do the same thing I did last week, and sing the mimosa’s praises around your town.