Thursday, February 05, 2009

Red red wine


Drunk on red wine and something called a grape smash (freaking ridiculous good, apparently I could drink vodka like this after yoga and it would taste like really amazing water) I sit here and thank god for spell check. And Justus, he catches everything spell check misses.

We had a terrible day yesterday. Trekked over to Ikea where we were stuffed full of plans to finish furnishing our house with random cool pieces and those touches that make a home, a home. You know, like vases and knick-knacks and the like.

Except right before we got there I had an attack of conscience and, acting like the women that the economists fear (smart economists, anyways, the other ones who don't get that women control the spending power of the world) pulled the plug.

Can you imagine? Pulling the plug on an Ikea trip?

I mean, it's not like Ikea is made of anything more than clapboard and veneer. It's not high art, or one of a kind, or anything more than clean lines and practical. And yet, I had to put on the brakes. How do you spell kibosh? That was me, tears in eyes in the Swedish meatball section, talking about responsibility and smart and not putting our family in a precarious position because we want a TV stand for a TV we don't have.

So we went out for dinner, our little splurge of time together. And I drank two drinks and ate almost a whole bacon cheeseburger in a fancy steakhouse and my tummy is round and I feel that groggy sort of red-wine-drunk and I think it's all going to be just fine.

As long as I can find a little pink Pepto Bismal pills and 2 Advil, that is.

1 comment:

lotusgirl said...

Don't ya hate it when responsibility comes right around and bites you in the bum!?