I’ve had a goal ever since my friend Ashley became engaged last summer. Her fiancé’s last name was Champagne and upon the realization that her last name would soon be Champagne, I needed to ensure that they had the real thing on their wedding day (the real thing being a bottle from Champagne, France, not just any old bottle of bubbly that people sometimes group with the real thing).
It’s not that I dislike other kinds of bubbly, it was just purely on principle here.
I can only imagine that this is the same type of feeling that religious leaders get when they say that they got their calling.
I knew my calling. It was to booze up some newlyweds with some (seriously legit) champagne.
It’s probably less romantic to have gotten my calling from my inner wino than some type of God, but that’s not the point here (unless wino is my religion, in which case this was wholly the same thing).
I was called and I needed to do this. Knowing that the others who partook may not appreciate the gesture as much as I felt its importance didn’t matter somehow.
All I was required to do was pour full glasses to Mr. and Mrs. Champagne, offer them the best sentimental gift that I know how, and hope they were happy.
The wedding commenced and everything was ready. My carefully chosen bottle was safely nestled inside of our limo, just waiting for its shining moment.
The couple had theirs, and now it was showtime. We piled into the limo and I readied my offering. Camille Saves Brut Rose. The same wine I drank with Tom to celebrate our engagement.
The same wine we toasted when we won the Stanley Cup. The same wine that I intend to toast upon my own marriage. The same wine, sharing here, now, with them.
I popped, poured, and settled in to watch their faces. Ashley, knowing how much this meant to me, profusely thanked me for my gift and we all sipped.
It’s amazing how quickly a bottle of wine so special and prized can disappear when eight bridesmaids along with a bride and groom are enjoying it.
It seemed like mere seconds, though I know it must have been longer. The wine was gone, my duty was done, and I felt fulfilled.
And then came the complimentary bottles of sparkling wine provided by the limo rental company. Andre. We went from Camille Saves to Andre.
Now, if you’re not familiar, let me give you a little background here. Camille Saves retails for about $50 while Andre is about $5. Price doesn’t always equate to quality but here, oh dear, here it does.
After the beauty of my special bottle, we endured sugary sweet sap, that can somehow be considered in the same category of the former. The crowd loved it, which crushed my inner wino ever so slightly.
But I had to savor that I introduced these people to something completely sentimental and while they may not have felt the gravity, I sure did.
I perched my half-filled glass of Andre back where it had been stored before our wine adventures began and resigned to savor the mission that I had completed.
I thought about this for a good long time and having accomplished my calling, I was proud. Sharing good wine (especially sentimental wine) is part of how a wino loves. I hope they felt that.