Once upon a New Year’s (Reagan was President) I led a calisthenics class in a frightful powder-puff gym where the management were always getting after me about my retro music, Henry Mancini and the Tijuana Brass (yes), though the gym members were down with it, or as one of them said, “I’ve learned everything I ever want to know about the boogaloo.”
“Go out and have a fabulous New Year, drink some Moet, get crazy,” I think I said. Or something like that.
Before my shift was over a handful of the ladies were back with a split of Moet & Chandon from the snotty wine and cheese shop up the street, where I had also, for my sins, once worked, not that any of them knew that. God love ’em.
That split of champagne stayed with me through two house moves and a marriage and a couple of rebounds. I did drink it eventually.
Don’t wait so long for yours. If it’s in your hands, frickin’ drink it, whatever form it takes. And don’t be bashful if you like the Tijuana Brass, or the boogaloo. Whatever that is.