Braless and sipping champagne

 

 

Whip off that bra … so free and fabulous! Kick off the heels and shed the stockings …

Slip into the softest, stretch-with-your-every-move pyjamas for complete comfort after a long day. Pop the cork of the best, cooled champagne and pour it into the glamour of a 1950’s coupe that fills the stem before bubbling as an eruption into the bowl. And sip. They say the champagne coupe was modelled on the breast of Helen of Troy or Marie Antoinette, some even say Madame de Pompadour.

It could be a scene from Absolutely Fabulous where Edina and Patsy drink champagne at the kitchen bench. For a moment, you can appreciate the end of the day or the week that’s been, or even a completed job, before the next hours of dinner and washing, the next day of work and whatever else life throws at you.

Escaping any shackles imbues a sense of energy and freedom, a true liberation. Joan of Arc as the fearless warrior and the 1960s feminist movement where going braless was a revolutionary act, of being comfortable above meeting social expectations, instils a similar release.

Try it. Toss the bag onto the chair and unknot the tie, replace the shoes and socks for thongs or flip flops or no shoes at all. Free those toes onto the warmth of wooden floors or into the grass outside as you inspect the garden, the tomatoes turning green-yellow, the chillies of flaming red. Grab the shovel and hoe into the dirt, the sun warming your back and the Daphne against the paling fence that exudes its sweetness.

Slide off the tweed trousers and draw up the board shorts or boxers after a 40-degree day, free style if that’s your thing.

Pull on those boots to snowboard down a thick powdery layer of virgin snow, to sprays of cool over bare cheeks and you as the only movement among the white. Appreciate the isolation and serenity.

Lounge to a movie or birds chortling their business with a book in hand, laughter in another room. Go for a run or swim, slump into the bean bag or arm chair with The Supremes, Sting or Strauss or any music that transports you to a time of fancy-free and invincible, with your kind of champagne by your side.

And breathe.

Free of all constraints, freedom to be where you are and feel what you feel, in the conviction of you are where you are meant to be, even without clarity of what that is, a sovereignty to a knowing when the lift door opens to the next floor.

They’re moments of pure immersion, when sipping the effervescence that lights the head in a contrast of weightlessness, energy and vitality to fuel a revolution within, bubbles up the stem.

Madame de Pompadour once said, “Champagne is the only drink that leaves a woman still beautiful after drinking it.”

‘Do you want something, Eddy, to go with your champagne?’

‘No, darling, nothing for me but your friendship, Patsy. And to have this damn bra off.’

 

 

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