The wintry walk out of work never fails to bring me joy, especially when it’s snowing and everyone smiles at each other and pauses the scraping of cars to shout things like safe travels home to you! Indeed.
Not too worried about the groundhog and his shadow today, as we are owed several weeks of gloriously sparkling winter here regardless. Looking forward, though, to wintering here beyond a pandemic… when an escape to somewhere warm stands a chance of carrying on without a hitch.
Between the wipes and the oil and the foam, I can almost forget about the canceled vacations of which we’ve lost count and the flight credit which will expire in vain.
Honorable mention: this perfume Facebook told me I should purchase if my winter tropical getaway plans fell through. They did, so I did.
Our kids caught us kissing in the kitchen before dinner tonight and tried the ewww gross route, until we asked them if they’d rather see us fight and get divorced. One tried to smart off about perhaps getting two Christmases, but the rest fell silent on concession. These little ones don’t yet understand the miracle they’re living… or maybe, they do.
Wanna hear about one of the biggest regrets of my life? One time, I had the option of eating at an Indian restaurant or Wendy’s. I chose Wendy’s, and I think about it a lot. That was a big regret. — Isaiah Jane, age 10; loves both Wendy’s and Indian food; isn’t afraid to admit when she’s made the wrong choice.
It’s surprisingly easy to talk about folks, especially women, who broke down and went crazy or had a full-on meltdown or flew off the handle. It’s a heck of a lot harder to discuss the slow boil that eventually became too hot to bear, and the ways in which we might have, accidentally or not, helped to turn up the heat.
Home.
I open the door and smile out loud. I have arrived to my hotel room, alone for the first time in a long time, settled in for an introvert’s dream of a night. There is a view of both city and ocean. There is cable TV, complete with a guide channel. There are robes and slippers and lots of pillows, all crisp and white.
I order a chopped salad and a mini bottle of champagne, hoping to host my own celebratory party in anticipation of an exam tomorrow. I receive a phone call shortly after… we’re out of this champagne; would you take that?
Of course, of course. Whatever is fine. I’m the gal who answers to the wrong name and takes a mixed-up order at a restaurant. I do not wish to make a scene. Whatever is fine.
The knock at the door is navigated with awkward pleasantries and masks and will you please hold the door so I can set this down and sign the receipt? Did you just arrive to town? Welcome. I brought you two glasses just in case, the kind employee says. Slightly confused and perpetually embarrassed, I tip well and hastily close the door. Only then am I able to assess what has been ordered to my room… a full-sized bottle of champagne, complete with a bucket of ice.
Only mildly concerned about what the hotel staff think of me ordering an entire bottle for myself at 5pm, I immediately set about my next task. We do not waste; I must research how to save the rest and get it back home on an airplane. Did you know a metal spoon, inverted in the bottle, purportedly preserves the bubbles? Perhaps a water bottle saves us. Stay tuned. I’m headed to the steam room.