Fridays are for appreciating that the next two days are special — unless you work, which is too bad. Really. They’re for enjoying the sunshine streaming through my clean — well, sort of clean, but streaked windows, and straightening the house — unless you have a housekeeper, which makes you one up. Fridays are for knowing that you’ve made it through another week, and have most likely not accomplished anything significant. And if you did, well pat yourself on the back, because there’s usually no one standing in line to congratulate you, even though they should. Fridays are for having good friends over to eat exceptional food, drink wine, and talk some serious smack about things that don’t matter to anyone but us. Everything will be solved by the time we’re done. No one will ever have to worry about anything again. Until next Friday.
So tonight, I’m the hostess with the mostest. Although I can do a knock down drag out job in the kitchen to prepare for these end of the week extravaganzas, I’ve never been able to manage making myself look as good as the food. In fact it’s likely that I’m wearing parts of the menu even as my guests arrive, but no one ever comments about it. You know — like having spinach in your teeth? They’ve also never commented on whether they’ve opened the closets and cupboards I’ve thrown stuff in to give the illusion that my house is tastefully kept. Or mentioned that the couch smells a bit strange near that spot the doggo compulsively licks.
But today, I’m ahead of the game. In fact, my roots are done, so no one will recognize me. My hair may actually look pleasant. No pony or clip. Combed. Possibly styled. It will distract the others from noticing what’s lacking in my clothes — so “what not to wear.” Who cares? After all, the food will be very un-dietlike. Truly the only thing that matters.
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