What, you don’t think multiple things can be one’s most favorite thing at once? They totally can so, as long as you are not a student whom M is tutoring for the LSAT. Then you would get a sad face full of regret at your inexact logic skills.
But in real life you totally can have lots of favorite things, and my ardor for the pumpkin candle of holiness is untarnished by my love of this…
“This” of course being…blogging in bed. Or, really, doing anything on the computer in bed. Watching Glee is acceptable also (although I’m starting to wonder if the writers have forgotten that they have an ensemble cast in which everyone is a complete BA. Yes, I want to watch Rachel and Kurt out-diva each other for 15 minutes, but then I want to watch Fondue for Two. Because you cannot tell me that Brittany is not the best character on that show: she dances, she deadpans, and she’s been the believable emotional core of at least two relationships which spanned both genders. RANGE).
Anyway. I am coze-balls (aka cozy, but beyond that state, such that new slang must be invented) and I am connected to the outside world, and am happily amusing myself while M participates in that most tried-and-true of male bonding rituals: the friendly poker game. I am told that this is something Y chromosomers do for fun, though to me this strains the boundaries of credulity: you take a friend’s money, or he takes yours…either way someone ends up poorer 6 (zillion) hours later, and with no cocktails or fancy new boots* to show for it. Men. I also always wonder whether the dudes inviting M over for these shenanigans know that he financed our entire courtship during college by playing poker. And that I have always loved sushi and fancy drinks. And that he is a wonderful man, and gives me what I love. AKA he is really, really good at poker. But I’m pretty sure it’s a sub-par wife** move to alert people that your husband is a total wolf in sheep’s clothing,*** so I say nada. Such deception going on here. We are basically Bonnie and Clyde.
And Clyde’s parents are coming to town tomorrow**** and our apartment is messai (which is Asian-inspired mess, since we got a really pretty Japanese-y vase [as pictured in the door-sliver pic above. Yes, it’s on the dresser, next to the TV. We’re calling it NYC-shoebox chic]). Probably the person’s parents who are visiting should clean, though, right? Or at least hire a maid with their poker winnings. I thought you’d agree!
*At the very least, whoever wins should spend their loot on some fancy new boots later. But you know he won’t.
**ZOMG wife. Still weird.
***But only when it comes to Texas Hold’em. Otherwise he is a delightfully straightforward individual.
****I am very excited about this, as I am about any out of town guest, since their arrival means we must show them all around Boston. Which translates into showing them the inside of Giacomo’s. And Neptune Oyster. And….everywhere.