Remember when Sunday Funday started with rolling out of bed from a night of debauchery, heading to the local hot brunch spot for some sustenance that included but wasn’t limited to, a spicy bloody mary and some kind of sauce on top of whatever you ordered to eat, followed by posting up on a bar stool for the noon NFL game, sipping a red beer with Zing Zang, and easing into an afternoon full of laughter and stories about tripping over midgets that turned out to be fire hydrants?*
Me too. (she sighed, wistfully longing for time gone by)
Today I’m ass deep in historical context for a short story by Kate Chopin, a short essay on the 19th-C novel The Hidden Hand, and more research on feminist theory, and the critic Nina Baym over which my final paper (due Wednesday) is over.
Ya’ll…it’s 73 gawddanged degrees outside.
On December 2nd.
With the completing of the first thing on that list up there, and having run out of printer ink for more article-printing-out, I’ve decided to hit the shower, run some errands, and get a pedicure. (I’ll read while someone works on these hooves)
It’s not a bloody mary and a patio. . .
But it will have to do.
*the midget/fire hydrant story is a real thing. you will have to hear it told from Kizz though. I was on all fours in the middle of a Chicago sidewalk… I really can’t tell it so well.