The sun’s golden rays beam into the kitchen on a lovely late-winter morning. Christopher dances in, returning from the grocery store with supplies for tonight’s party. His lack of grace makes for a cringe worthy version of the waltz as he swoops shopping bags onto the table then swirls me around the kitchen. He nearly spins me into the breakfast bar before continuing his little jig and pulling two bottles of champagne out of the bags.

“Wow. You look radiant! Are those bottles still full?” I ask.