I’m all for wearing cute gear and general cuteness on the farm. I always do a little five minute face even if it’s just me and my husband and our cows. A girl has to feel lovely. If you don’t believe that, give yourself five minutes of face and get back to me. Zélie, like my two other girlies, is into shoes. All shoes, any shoes, any shoe-like item will be used as shoes. Her first word was, “shoes.” Today, on our evening walk, she chose the wedge. I was a bit skeptical as I thought she might abort and move to bare feet. I love children in bare feet, but I’m still working on “project tidy” which includes rusty nails and their spikey tetanus inducing friends. She saw it through as any Cosmo girl would. She walked all over the farm in her oversized wedges without issue. Cats were cuddled. Chickens were fed. Balls were thrown. I’ve done a little wedging myself on the farm, but I reserve it for more domestic tasks. A wedge has no business with cattle work.
I love Champagne. During the many years of devoting my body as a host for our wee little brats, I spent a lot of sober nights watching others tipsy the night away over great meals or World Cup shenanigans or weddings or fireworks. ( I believe the current Politically Correct word for “brat” is “spirited,” but I like to keep things old school ) I didn’t miss a thing. Except, that is, for Champagne. Not sparkling wine. Not mass market fizz catering to rapper’s delight. I mean true Champagne that was grown by a grower and bottled and labeled. I took Zélie in for a check-up the other day and to my surprise, I saw a fabulous campaign on the health benefits of Champagne. According to this sign and as far as my French goes, Champagne evidently fixes everything.
AND, available at all Pharmacies! I should have known. I have quite literally a “gut feel” for crap food. I’ve never, EVER believed in or liked sugar substitutes. The same bad tingles are present with fake butter, fake oil and fake salt. All wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I eat real food. Except Nutella. That stuff is bad. But a little goes a long way on a crêpe. So, when I saw this clearly well researched, authoritative sign on Champagne, I felt justified. Now I need to work some magic to get Champagne as a stronghold in our budget right next to healthy, great tasting beef and that cheese at the market I buy from super-nice-cheese-man.
Truth be told, “Kola Champagne” is really a Puerto Rican Moxie. A cola drink that cures. Who knows, maybe Angel and Dr. Thompson swapped ideas during a lull in the Spanish-American War. Cure-all Cola drinks aside, I love Champagne and I would much rather have a glass of Champagne than Tylenol for pain relief.