Yesterday was one of those days where everything feels pleasant-to-fantastic, and I came home in the early evening with a feeling of bubbly inside. Nothing completely spectacular happened (I didn’t get offered my dream writing gig or have someone proclaim their undying love for me) but I’m happy.
Here’s my guide to passing a pleasant July 17th. Perhaps you could try it next year?
8am: Wake up.
9am: Finally get out of Skank Bed. Can you blame me? I was snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug in there. (NB: Snuggliness entirely unrelated to Skankness.)
9:20am: Make a breakfast that could very easily pass as dessert (post might come); read old Vogue Entertaining and Travel magazine in ongoing battle to pare back recipe pile.
10:25am: Walk across road to local hair salon, armed with Positive Self Talk to brace said self against the hairdressers who, judging by my housemate’s experience, like to make you feel bad about yourself.
10:30am: Mmm. Hair shampoo/massage. Warm. Sleepy.
10:35-11:30am: Lovely friendly hairdresser (my proactive defence of calling my own hair awful, before she could, must have worked) trims hair and makes me look like first, a banshee, second, a member of KISS, and third, someone with straight hair. Pretty pretty straight hair straight pretty pretty! (Some of you may recognise this palindrome as my Facebook status)
12:30-1:30pm: Toe dressing and internet-borrowing at parents’ place.
1:30-3pm: Super Fun Times watching Battlestar Galactica with the Father. I may not be mathematically or scientifically-inclined, but at least we can have bonding moments over debating Cylons and which characters we like/think are believable.
3pm: Receive hilarious message from an American fellow who has a tendency to fail at regular communicatoriness. Having had only brief moments of contact in the past four months (you know a friendship is true when dry spells like that matter not a whit), I opened my email to see this as the opening sentence(s).
“You kind of look like an evil vampire from True Blood! Don’t be offended, she is pretty.”
Clearly, generic greetings are for the weak and unimaginative. Thanks L-man. Other girls might be taken aback by this, but you made me gleeful. True Blood is awesome. (Even if I’m not entirely sure which character you’re referring to. Is it Lorena? Because she really is quite evil.) I hope every future epistle from you comes with equally entertaining opening lines.
3:30-5pm: Catch up with former uni friend, Mr. W, at my lovely local second-hand bookstore/cafe. While at first sitting with our drinks and treats in the corner of the bookstore plagued by Self Help, Cancer Survival, Relationship Advice, and Weight Loss Tomes seemed antithetical to a jovial atmosphere, we soon put paid to any negative osmosis and had, again, Super Fun Times. When I told him of my nerves regarding tutoring at uni in the coming weeks, he recommended I write my Honours mark on the whiteboard and wear my university medal around my neck. Methinks that would make the students predisposed to hate me rather than respect me. I’m leaning more towards cake-bribes.
5pm: Stop by the Official Masterchef Supermarket to buy some veggies and the item I had suddenly decided I needed-needed-needed, despite having no memory of eating it in the past: Blackstrap Molasses. And here’s my Good Deed for the day!
When I got to the checkout I, for reasons unbeknownst to myself, held up the molasses in the light and watched it swirl around. Suddenly, the older man in front of me asked what it was. Blackstrap molasses, I said. He looked intrigued, so I explained it’s an intensely-flavoured sweetener, more bitter than others of its ilk. The man asked where I’d found it, then darted out of the line when I told him. Sadly, he returned empty-handed; his search had been fruitless. Would you like mine? I offered. I can just pop back and get another for myself.
The man was so grateful that I now feel ashamed I don’t regurlarly distribute my shopping items amongst fellow shoppers. I could become, say, the Good Shopping Fairy. Or the Fairy Shopping Godmother.
8pm: Only Debbie Downer of the day: I knocked a bowl onto the carpet from a height of no more than 45cm and it broke. The horrifying part is that the exact same thing happened to another bowl a few weeks ago (sorry, parents. That blue bowl I borrowed? Um. Yep).
Oh, and my favourite snack in the world right now is a toasted wholemeal English muffin drizzled with blackstrap molasses.