Champagne in a Brita Pitcher

This morning I dreamed that I went to a party with Michelle and Barack Obama. We drove there together, and I don't remember the drive that much, but we were on some dusty back roads, and it was evening. When we went inside the house, a modest and normal house, there were all the other guests as we went downstairs to the basement. The party was evidently going to be down there. I stumbled quickly down the stairs and practically crashed into our host, a woman I did not recognize. I had a heavy pitcher in my arms, and it propelled me foreward and made me feel disoriented. So I went over to the table where the food was--pretzels and veggies and so forth--with Michelle close on my heels. She had in mind to replace the water with champagne. Now I realize this has a very water-to-wine kind of implication, but seriously I don't think my head was there. I had had water in a glass earlier yesterday (for real) and I decided I wanted ginger ale instead. I drank most of the water, but for some reason I just added the ginger ale on top of the water I had left. This act struck me as odd, like why would I want watered-down ginger ale? Aaannyway, Michelle managed to swap out the drink easily enough, and we moved on to mingle. Meanwhile, Barack had taken a seat on a cushy chair against the wall. He really wanted to just rest, to not have to be "on," or to have to worry about anything presidential. He wanted, for just this night, to not have to be anything. But when I looked over, he was surrounded by fawning adorers. There was a woman kneeling next to him, barely able to contain herself, with her arms around his leg. He was all, "Please, everybody, thank you...but I really can't do this tonight."