Today started out pretty well. Actually, this weekend wasn't bad at all-after picking my husband up from work, he claimed he needed to pick up some scotch bonnet peppers for a dish he was making but when we got to the grocery store, he informed me that first, we'd be going to a fancy little bar in the same plaza! Surprise!!!!!
Look, I never say no to a drink at any hour, happy or not, but I wish he would have told me because I might have made more of an effort with my appearance. I was not dressed for this. Fortunately it was still early. The bar hadn't really even begun to do business yet. I would be out of there before anybody could see me and snicker.
The sad, but sweet thing about my aloof but always well-meaning husband is that he thinks that I am beautiful regardless of what I'm wearing or not wearing. I'm flattered that he wasn't ashamed of me but that's my husband. He's humble, genuine, sweet and compassionate to a fault. He once dated a woman with a goatee, and two teeth and didn't care what anybody said because she was a damn good and beautiful on the inside and out. Her goatee was apparently the result of hormone replacement therapy. I'm not sure if it explains her missing teeth but I suppose that's neither here nor there at this point. I'm not saying a woman with a goatee and two teeth can't be attractive, I'm just saying it's a bit hard to trust him when he says I look beautiful. His frame of reference is a bit skewed.
I know how vain I sound. I cannot tell a lie. I want to feel and look like story hour mom now and again. I want to get dressed up and look fierce and be envied. I know it's wrong but I just want to feel beautiful, young, fresh and vibrant. It's been a long time since I've felt any of those things.
(courtesy of Mingles in the Bronx )Lately, I don't ever go anywhere requiring the effort which by the way has me resenting the fuck out of Story Hour Mom. She breezes into toddler story hour fresh off the pages of InStyle magazine (at least that's the message she's quite convincingly trying to convey), nails freshly manicured and brightly painted, rocking a wicked hairstyle that I could only pull off in my wildest dreams; too risque for a mom of toddler twins.
Her outfit was a bit too trendy (and tight) for her age, but she had the body for it, and the bitch looked fierce.
How dare she sashay into the library (a library of all places!-there are children with insecure moms here!) exuding that ridiculous amount of swagu? I overheard her talking to the librarian and she mentioned that she had two younger boys at home too. Is she for real? I checked her out again from head to toe as discreetly as possible from the corner of my magnifying eye glasses. The shoes. Damn her. How does she chase young children in those?
She's obnoxiously spirited and happy and joyful; a chipper chatterbox spewing ridiculous tales and anecdotes, doling out stupid advice to any idiot who'll listen. Like a bunch of drooling sycophants the other moms hang onto her every (grammatically incorrect I might add, ) word. I am not fooled. I don't even flinch when she flashes a flawless smile at me, looks me up and down and tells me what a beautiful job I'm doing with the twins. Taking them out to the library and managing their melt-downs all by myself. I wonder how I must look to her. I absolutely love the shade of her matte lipstick. I hate her.
Let's move on, shall we?
Sunday morning: hubby and I went to our Cozy Cottage (diner-we don't actually have a cozy cottage yet) for a delicious breakfast and to get out of the house.
It was... nice. It felt like it did when we were dating and we could stay out all night long doing whatever it was we did when we were young and unfettered, doing it until the sun began to creep up into the sky spreading daylight. Back then, our only concern was which diner had the best breakfast. We'd fine one and eat our scrambled eggs, bacon and Belgian waffles and talk for as long as the coffee refills kept coming. When we had our fill we'd waste the rest of the day at his place, wrapped in each other's arms in front of the t.v. watching old movies. What a time we had back when we were our only raison d'etre.
Of course we are living a completely different life now. I never imagined how different it would be. No spontaneous anything anymore. These days I have to schedule taking a shit. Free time is an oxymoron.
Honestly, I don't know what all of this has to do with James Blake but for some reason his music takes me "there." Where? I have no clue. I don't care...all that I know is I'm fallin'...fallin'...fallin'...might as well fall in...
For more on my obsession with James Blake and the affect of his music check out my Tumblr reneelizz.tumblr.com) post entitled "HBO's Togetherness and James Blake."
Thanks to James Blake and The Wilhelm Scream, Mingles and Story Hour Mom for the inspiration for tonight's post, which despite my intentions, seemed to have a mind of its own.
http://jamesblakemusic.com/
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