One Tuesday over the summer, I was doing my usual Tuesday thing – work, maybe a little cleaning, making a grocery list – when I was beset by a strong urge to misbehave. Quite suddenly, the best use of my time very clearly became wearing some tawdry heels and sitting outside in Fells Point having a daiquiri. Then I realized that, unfortunately, after one daiquiri I would be too buzzed to drive, and most places aren’t serving daiquiris at ten am. on weekdays, anyway. So, I spent the day goofing off. There may have been shoes involved, maybe some chocolate. I can’t remember.
The following Tuesday it happened again, and the Tuesday after that. For a month or so, every Tuesday I woke up and wanted to misbehave. Eventually, the urge passed. Today it came back in a big way. I went to the mall, and against my better financial judgment, bought some weirdly awesome shoes. (Leopard print! If I’m going to cover my feet, it should damn well be interesting.) I also tried on some clothes that show of the goods, but nothing struck my fancy, and Scott kept calling to give me the excrement report – this particular Misbehaving Tuesday just happened to coincide with Dogbarf Tuesday. I wish I had checked my calendar.
As good as my life is these days, sometimes I still want a break from it, to play hooky for a day, cut life and be somewhere else, do something else, and most of all, not be accountable – for work, family, or excrement. As I write this, Scott is returning from a walk with Max, to tell me that Max now has bloody diarrhea. Shit. No, really, shit. I’ve been sitting here debating whether I want to sit on the couch and have a cocktail, or whether I want to sit in meditation for the evening. Now it looks like I’m going to sit at the vet.
