Bon Anniversaire, Alma!

There was something childlike in her rage, her foot beat an incessant rhythm and her mouth grimaced. She looked like a kitten left outdoors, hair messed up by the rain. I forgot my anger and I smiled softly.

The Maître d'hôtel brought us two glasses of champagne.

"Reissue of hollow leg model of the 30th, of the crystal Portieux," she said, shaking her head, unsure of herself. "Champagne?" Her voice faltered and her eyelids fluttered quickly - too quickly. She stared.

"Mm—"

"I cannot drink that!" Alma said flatly.

"Why not?"

What a silly question! Decidedly, she always spoke confused statements.

"No way," she added very upset.

"But why not?" I tried to reassure her.

She lowered her head towards me, whispering in my ear. "Because, I'm afraid I'll start singing!"

My eyes widened and I grimaced.

"Has this already happened to you?" I sighed.

"No."