Saturday, July 09, 2005
To London with trepidation (sort of). Hubby leaves tomorrow for London. It's remarkable how laissez-faire we have become i.e. "Oh well... So is the 21st century. Terrorism everywhere I guess." I say: "Be careful darling.... And...well, please bring home the bacon...."
Frying Pan Fracus. The twenty-year-old son and eighteen-year-old daughter have regressed ten years since being back from college. Where as they used to fight over who was breathing whose air, they now fight over the non-stick omelet pan and who has or has not cleaned it. It got so stupid that I went to Macy's and bought another one for $12 bucks so they wouldn't have to fight anymore. Which probably means that I'll now have TWO dirty pans at any given time in my sink. I told them that if they didn't work things out I'd take both pans to their heads thank you very much.
45-year-old Moments. In pajamas and a tank top (no bra), and hair every direction this morning, I walked down the driveway to haul up the empty garbage pails (yet again and always). Rick caught me 2-feet by surprise i.e. my landscaper was unbeknownst to me treating the lawn and was just coming up on my right. F***.... Eyes that lock speak volumes. Eyes that lock get to know each other real quick. OK you beautiful late-twenties young man with a business graduate degree and your own landscaping business: you are tan and for f*******-god-sake incredibly in shape with an adorable trickle of sweat coming down your forehead -- where one just wants to reach up and gently wipe the perspiration away... Yes, eyes that lock speak volumes... he sees a disheveled forty-something woman quite in shape but also quite ill-prepared for such an encounter i.e. the hair is helter-skelter, the face not-even-washed-from-waking, an eclectic outfit of orange pant pajamas, a random pink t-shirt, and hubby's grey sweatshirt. Perhaps my gleaming white teeth deflect from the haunting picture... ? Thank god for the twenty minutes between hitting the sack and actually falling asleep. Here we are master of our contrived realities...
Frying Pan Fracus. The twenty-year-old son and eighteen-year-old daughter have regressed ten years since being back from college. Where as they used to fight over who was breathing whose air, they now fight over the non-stick omelet pan and who has or has not cleaned it. It got so stupid that I went to Macy's and bought another one for $12 bucks so they wouldn't have to fight anymore. Which probably means that I'll now have TWO dirty pans at any given time in my sink. I told them that if they didn't work things out I'd take both pans to their heads thank you very much.
45-year-old Moments. In pajamas and a tank top (no bra), and hair every direction this morning, I walked down the driveway to haul up the empty garbage pails (yet again and always). Rick caught me 2-feet by surprise i.e. my landscaper was unbeknownst to me treating the lawn and was just coming up on my right. F***.... Eyes that lock speak volumes. Eyes that lock get to know each other real quick. OK you beautiful late-twenties young man with a business graduate degree and your own landscaping business: you are tan and for f*******-god-sake incredibly in shape with an adorable trickle of sweat coming down your forehead -- where one just wants to reach up and gently wipe the perspiration away... Yes, eyes that lock speak volumes... he sees a disheveled forty-something woman quite in shape but also quite ill-prepared for such an encounter i.e. the hair is helter-skelter, the face not-even-washed-from-waking, an eclectic outfit of orange pant pajamas, a random pink t-shirt, and hubby's grey sweatshirt. Perhaps my gleaming white teeth deflect from the haunting picture... ? Thank god for the twenty minutes between hitting the sack and actually falling asleep. Here we are master of our contrived realities...
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