Champagne Gravy

When there’s a big party, champagne begins to spray. And the people getting doused don’t really mind. That’s the angle of this idea: Hiding a little dinner sloppiness, under the cover of a celebration.

I took my sweetheart to a nice restaurant. During the meal, oops, she dripped a little gravy onto her blouse. Know now, she’s not clumsy like me. The term is “Old Man Dribble”, and she doesn’t have the lady version. No, I distracted her, or there was something wrong with the fork. Sweetie, it wasn’t your fault! But she was certain everybody noticed and that they were discussing it disapprovingly, all down the street and into the next city. And as she tried to clean it at the table, the little drip became a large spot. She went into the ladies room for about 27 hours, returned with a completely soaked blouse, wrapped herself like a mummy in her coat, and we left.

Next time, I want a bottle of Champagne Gravy. It will go like this:
Drip.
“Oh no.”
“Waiter, a bottle of your finest, please.”
He arrives with Champagne Gravy, an excellent vintage.
Pop! Shake-shake-shake-shake (thumb over the mouth of the bottle).
I then leap up and yell “YEAH! Way to go Wildcats! WoooHooo!”, and spray us both thoroughly, as the wait staff gathers to cheer us on.
We leave celebrating, and covered head to toe in gravy.

As I look back on that event, I’ll ask her, “Sweetie, remember that time in the fancy restaurant when we were soaked in gravy?”
I think she’ll remember, with no recollection of how it started.