I get out rarely enough that when I do have plans I start counting down the hours pretty early on. I’m going to a movie tonight with a friend (it starts in just 4 hours, 20 minutes, btw), and am so excited. We’re seeing Julie and Julia. Cooking? Blogging? Meryl? How can it be wrong? I wonder how many experimental cooking blogs we’ll see as a result of this movie. And how much of an increase in sales of books by Julia Child . . .
These final hours leading up to any outing of mine are typically spent “getting ready to go out.” Unfortunately that doesn’t mean primping and the like. It’s more like I feel the need to prepare everything in the house so that I feel all right about leaving. I make sure dinner is ready for the fam, do the dishes, clean up, make sure Robby doesn’t nap too long so he won’t be difficult to put to bed, etc. (Also on the list this afternoon will be the creation of some sort of scrumptious movie snacks, because seriously, could anyone sit through a movie like this without eating something?) And let it be known that my husband has nothing to do with this self-imposed need I have to make myself feel like I deserve an evening out; it’s all me, and it’s very strange.
Once the countdown begins, it almost doesn’t matter how bad the afternoon gets, because I know that at the end of it I get to escape (4 hours, 2 minutes). But I’m sure I’ll eat those words . . . followed by a scrumptious snack . . . in 4 hours, 1 minute.