So during my recovery days, I’ve unsubscribed from annoying emails (sorry, Forever 21); organized my CDs (classical, standards and a very small box marked “other”); and nearly abused my public library privileges. I’ve even pulled an Edith Wharton a few times, taking tea in bed and writing the morning away. (If I call tapping away on my laptop—with shameless bed-hair and my “Jesus Loves Me But I Drink A Little” t-shirt—pulling an EW, it feels better. Imagination, my friends.)
I get a little put out with my lack of stamina and my body’s need to be horizontal, but then someone knocks on the door with a homemade meal, and it’s all good. The spouse even scrubbed the bathtub this afternoon. (After I slathered it in Scrubbing Bubbles and handed him a brush. “This thing?” he said, holding the scrubber like he’d never seen such an object before.) But he muscled up on the job, and the tub is gleaming.
Not a bad life, huh? I don’t recommend surgery, but if you have to… savor the aftermath as much as you can.
Y’all, I even have a bell next to my bed.
Here are some of the good things that have happened at our house lately:
I splurged and rented this for $2.99 on Amazon in the wee hours of the morning. I fell in love with this movie (not hard: Audrey Tautou, a handsome stranger who cooks, a grand Parisian apartment—note the Art Nouveau bathroom). The title translates, roughly, to “Together is all.” I’m such a sucker for stories of unlikely friendships. (In fact, I realized that my 2 2/3 novels are just that.) The next evening, the family watched the film. (Don’t judge—my girls are 18). The credits rolled and we decided to try our hands at crepes. (It’s a pity I was wearing sweats for our impromptu party, but I did dab on a little lipstick.) And so at 11 p.m. we had ourselves a feast of browned butter crepes, dressed with Grand Marnier-sweetened whipped cream, dark chocolate sauce and orange peel. We sauteed and whisked and caramelized listening to my “other” category CD, “Left Bank Groove,” a goofy collection of songs you might catch yourself tapping your foot to while sifting through the sale rack at Anthropologie.
Thinking ahead to the two weddings Luke and I will attend on the day of our twenty-second anniversary, I shopped Modcloth and came up not with a dress but with shoes that make me smile. (No, I’m not on pain meds.) I don’t know what I’ll be wearing, but it will have to go with blue sparklies… I’m already hearing “Dancing Queen.”
Just thinking about trading flip flops for these makes me feel all fancy-pantsy.
Well, that was a whole lot of fluff. I recommend the writing in bed and the movie—and most definitely the bell. But don’t you dare order the shoes. (I know you’re dying for some blue glitter in your life…)