I have an affinity for bubbly, and I absolutely love holding a glass in flute form. It doesn’t need to have added sugar, berries, or anything – I want to see through my glass in a haze of appreciation for whatever sight I’m taking in.
I was thinking about the term “bottomless”, as it was featured on a Brunch menu. It seemed all too enticing; bottomless mimosas? As in, free range to sip as languidly or as ferociously desired, and suddenly another glass appears, and that glass is free? Still, I hesitated on that Sunday afternoon to allow my glass to be refilled after the second. Not because I prefer my Prosecco (or whatever bubbly presented) without fuss, but because I suddenly realized this luxury is something to be savored.
What else in life do we hope might be bottomless, without consequence? For me it might be bottomless chocolate (no extra bottom gained). A bottomless vacation to Italy; sight seeing as my primary job! Bottomless time to watch films, read books, or simply just chat with my favorite person of the moment.
These all sound incredible, but how can I savor any of it? My bottomless mimosas suddenly become something I’m indifferent about, simply because they lack meaning. I’d be happy to sit with my mom, open up a bottle together, toast the first, second, and third glass and be done. All with a cheerfulness toward the idea of limitation; still knowing we gave into indulgence, but there’s something to be said for that indulgence ending.
I get to look forward to it on another day.
Terry McKay only had one glass of pink champagne, after all.