They told me that playing tennis is like riding a bicycle, and after a few months of practice I am happy to report that my forehand is as good as before. We played a sweaty, vigorous game earlier in the day, and I’m a little sore and smelly. Feeling smug with my game, I run a hot bath, and add some home-made bath salts. The scent of amber wafts up in puffs of steam, and I loosen my dove grey quilted rayon velvet dressing gown with silver French metal buttons, hang it on the door-hook, and sink into my bath. I sigh contentedly, hum “I Get A Kick Out Of You”, and relax.
“I get no kick from Champagne
Mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick
Out of you”
(By Cole Porter)
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