I’m allowed to start looking forward to the weekend when it’s only Wednesday, right? This week has sucked so far, as I’ve got a cold and my washer and dryer crapped out just when I really needed them. Off to Best Buy we went and procured ourselves a new set.
They were delivered yesterday, but the outlet in my laundry room was designed for a range instead of a dryer. My poor house. I love it. It’s orange, has a tree growing in the center of it and has lots and lots of windows, but it was built in 1964 and has apparently had nothing but DIYers (including me) habitate under its skylights. Something always has to be updated or redone because it was slapped together with hillbilly carpentry.
Many thanks to Ben, an electrician, for coming out and putting a new outlet in on such short notice. Also, thank you for being hot and having an accent. I can’t really remember anything you said to me, but the washer and dryer are all hooked up and I’ve got on clean underwear for the first time this week.
Yeah, so when that’s a highlight you can bet I’m ready for a weekend away with my girlfriends.
We go to my friend’s family cabin at the beach every November – In fact, I think this will be my 9th year. The only time I’ve missed it was when I was, like, two days away from giving birth to my son. We all lounge about and read US and People magazine, drink Bud Light, eat junk food and just generally have a grown-up slumber party. On Saturday we hit the outlet mall and get started on our Christmas shopping. We play card games and make up dance routines and try on each others’ clothes. There is some hair braiding, I won’t lie. We, without fail, burn our dinner on the first night and have something fried with ranch dressing on it at the bar the second night.
The best part is we get to be how we used to be for a weekend. Before husbands and kids and jobs and mortgages and all the have-to’s that come with getting older. I get called by my first name and no one asks me to get them anything besides maybe another beer. I can forget that I’m on my second set of washer and dryers in my adult life.
The next best part is on Sunday when we go home and get to see our husbands and kids and we offer to get them anything they want and it’s good to be called Honey and Mommy again.
No matter how successful I want to be as a mother and writer, how driven I am, how much I sacrifice “who I used to be,” it can’t all be about getting ahead. Sometimes you have to relax, do some 8-counts, play Apples to Apples and not worry about word count or deadlines or if your kids have clean jammies.
My point: Acting like a jackass 18-year-old can be good for you. 🙂
ROW80: I wrote 376 words on Dissent on Tuesday and head plotted the rest of the scene last night while folding, you guessed it, laundry.