The Wilde Brunch

Hi Guys,

I want to introduce you guys to another writing buddy of mine. Kimberly Frost is one amazing lady. Her first book isn't out until February, but I'd bet my best hairbrush that her work is as witty and interesting as she is. Thanks for joining us, Kimberly. Here's Kimberly...

I am not a professional drinker. I could not even claim amateur status in the Olympics since that implies training and a certain advanced knowledge of the sport.

I met my friend S for brunch at B’s in the village. I had once tried their peach mimosas with no ill effects and looked forward to one as I skimmed the menu and decided upon an Asian chicken salad. Then the word Bellini caught my eye. Don’t you find oranges to be bright and sunny? Like summertime in a glass?

About ten years ago I’d tried a frozen Bellini in a chain restaurant, and it had tasted like a melted Creamsicle, taking me back to my childhood days of buying ice creams from the truck that rolled through our neighborhood playing really loud and somewhat obnoxious music that set us to salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

So while S ordered a mimosa, I ordered a Bellini.

“The Bellini martini?” the waiter asked.

“Sure,” I said with a smile, in a hurry to move on from ordering so I could visit with my friend.

As we chatted about life, plans, families, and work, I drank the cocktail. Deep in conversation, I was only vaguely aware of the fact that it bore no resemblance whatsoever to a milkshake. No, I thought with a slight cough, the rather vigorous concoction was stout enough to be used to cleanse wounds and clean countertops.

When S signaled the waiter to bring us another round, I began to shake my head, but got distracted when she launched into a description of her misadventures on an Alaskan cruise.

The meal ended too quickly, and S dashed off to pick up her kids while I meandered through the parking lot. Feeling flushed and a bit smothered by the hundred-degree heat, I realized, quite startled, that my lips were numb. Also, somewhere during the second Bellini martini, my head had turned into a beehive.

Clearly, driving was not an option.

The sun beat down on my head, scorching my highlights to brass. I had to seek shelter and fast.
After an interminable hike in shoes not really meant for walking or standing, I found a haven.

The jewelry store was sixty-nine perfect degrees with soothing classical music and a saleswoman in a pale linen suit who smelled like lavender. She offered me water, which I graciously accepted.

I perused the glass cases full of sparkling accoutrements. The gemstones twinkled like stardust and the gold shone like molten sunshine. It occurred to me that Christmas was a mere seven months away. The bees buzzed pleasantly in my head, and I began pointing.

I will not tell you what I bought or what I spent. That is between me, the saleswoman who asked me to call her Dina, and my wonderful friends at MasterCard.

I will leave you with a parting thought. Oscar Wilde said, “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from lack of imagination.” Never wanting imagination to be in short supply, I am therefore forced to recommend brunch with a Bellini martini—or two.

Best wishes,

Kimberly Frost
Would-be Witch, February 2009