Good Housekeeping
Every so often, I have a dainty little brain aneurysm that manifests itself in my going all Donna Reed for a day. Yesterday, for instance, playing hookey from work, I swept the floors, did the laundry, changed the sheets, cleansed the drains (baking soda + vinegar + boiling water), did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen (twice), and then made festive springtime sugar cookies and an elaborate dinner that involved way more than the usual three ingredients, ten minutes, and a microwave. There was an appetizer and everything. The plan was to be in a skirt and pumps, martini at the ready, when Simon got home from work, but I only managed a sweatshirt, lip gloss, and the suggestion that he should have a martini and wouldn't it taste better if he made it himself, to his own exacting specifications?
Sometimes I don't know what's wrong with me.
Dude, after cleaning, baking cookies AND making dinner, someone should be making YOU a martini. For real.
At least you managed the lip gloss. On days that I accomplish that much around the house, I usually don't even put on a bra.
I didn't have a bra on either, but that was part of the treat. Donna Reed would be scandalized!
You should totally give lessons!
(To, um, Miles. Not to me.)
(Though he did meet me at the door once with a sugar-encrusted sidecar. That RULED.)
I don't think he'd look very good in lip gloss...
You know how I know I'm dieting? All I want to know after reading this is: What did you make for dinner? And the appetizer? Did it have cheese?
"Easy shrimp and asparagus" from a free recipe card we picked up at Safeway, and "Vegetable biriyani" from a Martha Stewart magazine from 2003. No cheese in either of them, which, now that I think of it, makes me sad.
we all have fleeting moments of insanity... ; )
Sadly, this has never happened to me.
Nicely done. Could only have been approved upon by wrapping your thigh in bacon.
or, rather, improved upon. Work aphasia.
I envy your ambition. Last night was perogies and sausage for us and all we were left with was some serious gas.
You're hilarious. Hookey sounds like fun ;)
Did you manage pants with the sweatshirt? Or was it really ONLY a sweatshirt?!?
If I showed up at the door dressed in a skirt and pumps, martini at the ready, with a clean kitchen and an elaborate dinner, my husband might A. keel over in shock, and 2) suspect I'm having an affair.
I just couldn't do that to him. :)
I agree.
I enjoyed reading this. Thanks.
I enjoyed reading this. Thanks.
I enjoyed reading this. Thanks.