One of my best girlfriend's called me yesterday.
She's back from two weeks on the Mayan Peninsula in Mexico and a quick jaunt to the French Quarter to ring in the first fabulous breath of this opportunistic new year. Her message alluded to seclusion, beach walks, putting her face in a mask to view the tranquil colors and soak in the warm salty sea with no one tugging at her knees or breasts.
Unfortunately, We missed each other.
I was immersed in the exciting gas line at Costco because my practical husband thought I should get out for some Mommy Time. It was 32 degrees and I chose the pump that you had to continuously squeeze to dispense the Petrol. I caught a good windburn. My phone was cozy in the car.
But when we speak today, I will get to tell her of my intriguing outing to get fresh farm eggs on the down low off an elusive tailgate on Dock Street.
I have a secret correspondence with my farmer who emails her location.
But then again, I might be on a neighborhood stroll pointing and saying, "yes, pine tree" for the thousandth time and won't hear her phoning. Odds are if I'm up to my elbows in digested lentils or my fingertips are greased with butt paste, the window of San Francisco's time difference will pass, and I'll have to save the days titillating details for later.
Oh I know, what a whining bitch I am! I can hear it now, "She should be so fortunate to have a baby she can stay home with and influence." But in my world of relativity, the sympathetic "at least" statements don't have any bearing with me today.
My period is back after a 20 month hiatus, making me frighteningly aware that I could do this all over again.
God Willing:)
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