|Right now I'm supposed to be in actual Paris for a writer thing, |
but reality. It's biting all of us.
This morning I got on the British Museum website to look for a book about cartouches (hieroglyphs of names of Egyptian kings). It was out of print, so I spent nearly £200 on things like a Rosetta Stone wristwatch and a pencil sharpener that looks like a little trebuchet.
Let's pretend those things are going to be Christmas gifts.
Are they still Christmas gifts if you give them to yourself?
Hubby promised to clean the sink and forgot. When I pointed it out he said he'd do it tomorrow, so I muttered, "You'd better or I'll throat punch you." Let's face it that's not okay. Yes, I apologized, but wrapped up my apology with, "But I meant it."
He's a good man. He puts up with my crap. That's really important in a spouse. It's really important to know your spouse would never actually throat punch you, no matter how much she wants to. Next week is our anniversary. I'm planning to make him those tiny gluten-free cupcakes Wegmans makes and pass them off as effort. I also think I'll gift him a tiny trebuchet pencil sharpener. I'll keep it in my office.
Halloween is next week and what with the virus no one can trick or treat. I decided to offset this rift in the force by making up little bags of candy (and letting them sit for a week to neutralize cooties) and giving them to family/friends/the people who bring my Amazon packages. As I assembled them, I ate enough of those tiny Snickers bars to make an entire Snickers bar. They're gluten-free (unlike most candy) so they had it coming.
It's the end of the week and we're still having leftovers from the one meal I made this week. I've perfected the fine art of cooking two meals a week. That's not a sin. That's a talent. If one of those "cooked" meals is takeout, it's genius.
Good gravy I should write a cookbook about that.
Contrariness is in the air like leaves falling off trees. I think it's an excellent time for low expectations and not expecting too much from yourself, or others. Bet my expectations are lower than yours.