Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Monday, Monday

I am at work overlooking an impromptu goose preserve. I just recently emerged through the windtunnel/looking glass phenomenon known as "the weekend." You know it. The painful crawl to Friday, all the heartbreaking excitement that leads up to it: Tuesday is not Monday; Wednesday is "hump" day and the day when the "Food" section is in the paper; Thursday is ALMOST THERE, and Friday is dreadful "casual" day, which means I spend at least 30 minutes longer trying to look insouciant, like I just "threw on a pair of jeans," when in fact I fingered every item in my closet and felt fat and weird in all of it--saddlebags oozing from the sides of the jeans, an unruly stomach, an unflattering V-crease in the jeans. I try to hide it all with the new "fashionable" tunics they sell at Old Navy. Am I dressing too young for my age?
I went to Target (aka "church") yesterday after a "Betty Blue" catatonic haze sort of morning with les enfants. Four unadulterated hours with two under 3's and one very charming 7 year old. The Better Half went on one of his two tried and true Sunday morning routes: Home Depot (aka Home Despot) or the Asian food market. The Asian food market won out because, inexplicably, it was very important to have lots and lots and lots of cilantro on hand. Sometimes he brings back white bony fish with gnarled sharp bones only an Asian food mart would have--probably snakefish or eye of knute--and then asks me to whip something up with it. Weird, white, smelly, bone-in fish that's kind of greasy and not the sort of antiseptic smooth American germinated fare I am accustomed to. So now we have lots of cilantro, mushy pears, a pineapple, and an enormous wad of exuberantly fresh ginger in the house. The pineapple looks like we have Spongebob's house on the counter. My best friend confided in me today that she doesn't like Spongebob. I said, "But we ARE Spongebob." She said, "I don't care. I don't want to watch it. We do it better."


Cynicism is another word for reality

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