“Too much champagne?” “Maybe.” “Silly girl,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “There’s no such thing as too much champagne. Though your head will try to tell you otherwise tomorrow.”
“Too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.”
“Champagne, always champagne. Make mine Veuve-Clicquot.”
“You’ll have champagne. All girls like champagne.” All girls didn’t like champagne. I preferred root beer. Willie preferred anything that smelled like gasoline and burned her throat. She could hold her liquor better than any man, and I wished she was there to help me navigate John Lockwell.”
“Burgundy makes you think of silly things, Bordeaux makes you talk of them and Champagne makes you do them.”
“mum's dress. mum loved big parties. she loved dressing up and champagne bubbles tickling her nose, and dancing with her arms above her head, shoes thrown to the edges of the dance floor, and shouting inane happy things at people. ”