Playful, elegant, and not above the judicious use of the word “shit."

In California, I dream of snow

I’m currently sitting at San Francisco International airport waiting to board a flight home. I’ve been visiting five of my girlfriends for the weekend, and maybe because my Granny keeps submitting my name to the temple so a whole bunch of Mormon strangers will pray for me, it didn’t rain nor did I end up in the hospital connected to a respirator. In fact, the weather was phenomenal the entire time I was here, and the moisturizer with built in SPF that I use on my face got a total workout. I would normally be leaving here with the smell of honey in my hair, as that one scent seems to be a permanent fixture in the air near the ocean, but this morning Maggie’s husband made bacon, so my entire body smells like fried pork. Meaning I smell like I normally do.

We shopped until we fell over and then ate a ton of food that is not normally in my diet, but the best part was the talking until 2 AM (WHO TOOK MY CHOCOLATE PILLOW?), warming my very cold hands at night in the warm fold of Sarah’s bosom, and clapping for Hank when he did such magnificent things as blink his eyes and smile. The first night we were there Maggie gave Hank a bath, and all six of us huddled into the bathroom to ooh and ahh, and when he was done he stood up and applauded himself. Which is a contagious thing anyway, so there we were, six women giving a standing ovation to a naked baby. And really meaning it.

And I’ve decided that when I make a million dollars and can afford to pay for frivolous things like diamond-studded toothpicks or battery-powered underwear that continuously warms the butt, I’m going to hire a team of good-looking men with great hair to stand outside of my shower and applaud when I get out and show them what a great job I did of shaving my legs. And they will be paid bonuses based on how much they make me believe them.

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