"The noises I hear round me are bubbling..." ~ Jane Eyre

It has been the most mauvaise of Mondays.

Compounding finishing a regimen of antibiotics last night and battling exhaustion each day, the day itself was exceptionally ridiculous in how many aspects went wrong since walking through my office door at eight thirty this morning. It was such a wonderful feeling to walk through my door this evening, slam the door to the outside world, change into pajamas by seven o'clock, eat some leftover lamb from Easter, and turn on some vintage Madonna. Speaking to J.Sarah tonight was the best part of my day, and being reassured by my kindred spirit that the half life of the meds was quick, I realized that a celebration was in order after I finished discussing her trip to Germany she just arrived home from.

At first I thought wine - I have tons of Beaujolais. A nice glass of red with the New Yorker; perfect ending to a bad day. However, today was no ordinary bad day - it was filled with instances that made me think back to the Alexander of my youth, though I wish I was in France and not Australia.

So, what is a fille to do if she cant go to France?

Drink champagne.

I had a half bottle of Moet White Star and popped that cork, knowing it was a good remedy for a bad day. After all, people do have bad days in France, such as the bar maid in the Manet painting. She looks tres fatigue.

Having bubbles fizz up my nose as I sipped made the day all better. It was cold and refreshing, dry and crisp. Sometimes it is not enough to reward yourself with the usual and familiar. Sometimes you have to remember how much you love yourself and want yourself cheered up.

Sometimes you just have to drink champagne.