Veuve Clicquit Ponsardin

It only seems appropriate to get this rolling with a bottle of Champagne, and this bottle in particular.  It’s the Stat Man’s Mom’s favorite.  Although my mouth isn’t well versed in the subtleties of Champagne, I’d describe this bottle as slightly tart with a creamy texture.  I suppose that is also the description of grandma Maassen’s lemon meringue pie.  So much for being a writer.

You are looking at an empty bottle because I already done drunk it on Monday night.  No, I don’t need a 12 step program, and no, I’m not lying.  There is a story, but first here is a close up of the label.

Monday night was the last day of my last job.  (Last as in most recent job.  I do hope to be employed again in this lifetime.)  The conclusion of coaching a high school swim team is the banquet.  You know, that great event where the coach’s face  oscillates between red and purple while attempting to give personal speeches about each individual swimmer.  I’m not much into public speaking.

I walked through my back door around 9:00 pm on Monday night.  The Stat Man was fed and well into his evening studies when I arrived home.  Of course he greeted me with the obligatory questions about the banquet, and then pointed to my pillow.  “There’s an envelope for you.”  It was small.  A dead ringer for the seven previous school rejections USPS delivered that month.  My reaction was, of course, chalk it up as number eight.  The Stat man could tell I was disappointed and walked to the kitchen.

I opened the envelope and confusion ensued.  It said something about “welcome” and there was an exclamation point.  That’s when I followed the Stat Man toward the kitchen and murmured a few sentences about “I think I got in.”  Yes.  That was my thought.  I think I am accepted to graduate school.  As if the second sentence was terribly ambiguous by stating “I’m pleased to admit you for the fall of 2010 semester.”  Luckily the Stat Man stepped around the corner and clarified the acceptance with a bottle of Veuve Clicquit Ponsardin.  Believe it or not, we don’t keep the orange label on hand.

A different confusion ensued.  “Wait what?  How’d you know?”

Turns out 100 watt light bulbs facilitate x-ray vision.  Needless to say, we drank 2 bottles of the bubbles with our Ann Arbor homies.  I’m going to grad school, so cheers to that.


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