48 hours.
48 delicious hours
in which I plan to lock my To-Do List in a shoebox.
(Note to self #1-
learn to type more quietly.
The List is all knowing. It might HEAR you.)
Now--the relaxing-
let it begin.
Maybe I'll FINALLY unroll my yoga mat
and practice sloth-asana.
Maybe I'll stay in my pajamas, drink endless cups of steaming tea and cruise itunes.
And breakfast-
there will definitely be some form of breakfast involved.
The kind with the buttered toast.
Or what about,
wait for it-
a Gilmore Girls MARATHON?
(Somewhere, out on the golf course,
my husband just experienced the kind of shudder you're supposed to feel when someone walks over
the place where your grave will be.
So if I have ever, in casual conversation, insinuated or unintentionally inferred in any way
that my very manly husband enjoys watching the Gilmore Girls with me, well-
we're clear now, right? Okay?)
Or maybe I'll even venture out of doors
and go pumpkin picking.
No, seriously. Our friends are going.
(Note to self #2- add +1 to Pro column
on, "Living in the Boonies--Pro or Con--List"
very first thing Monday morning
upon removal of list from shoebox.)
If we go pumpkin picking I could bring my camera.
Okay, let's move pumpkin picking up to the top of the list.
No, you don't understand-
I meant the relaxation list.
Come on, don't try to pretend you don't have one?
I'm not buying it for a minute.
I said I wanted to relax
not set the APOCALYPSE in motion!
SERIOUSLY-
GIVE. . .ME. . .BACK. . THAT . . .LIST!)
Kidding.
Mostly kidding.
Really, almost entirely kidding.
Happy Divali.
Happy Pumpkins.
Happy weekend.
