I woke up this morning from a dream of sitting on a floor, talking and laughing, with Jamie Oliver and a bunch of little kids.
Now right there, you know you’re going to have a good day.
I spent the next three hours in bed, writing out Christmas cards, watching Saturday-morning cartoons, with The Boy asleep next to me.
Then I took a nap. (All that exertion.)
A seriously good morning, because really, I have the fulfillment needs of a tabby cat. I need to be warm and comfy and lazy, and if you let me have all that, I really can’t imagine a whole lot more. And I had it.
But, even better, I just got back from a wedding and reception that, in spite of or because of the blizzard, the mixed-up ceremony, and especially – es-pec-i-ally – in spite of or because of the “Venetian hour” of flaming pastries with a club-music entrance… was really pretty and an awful lot of fun.
And I haven’t laughed that much or that hard in I don’t even know how long. You know how there’s always a table, everywhere – at a wedding, at high-school lunch, at the food court, at work, wherever – that looks like it’s full of people who are having a way better time than you are, and sort of makes you feel boring and inferior by comparison? Maybe that’s just me and my neuroses. Anyway, though, we were that table, and it really was a good time.
But, just for future reference, ain’t nothing like that lit-up dessert will be coming anywhere near any wedding I might ever have.
I swear. You think you know what’s up, and then the lights go down and the sparklers get lit and the cream puffs roll in and you realize just how very wrong you were.
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