steph
Steph is gorgeous. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s why everyone’s staring.
She doesn’t know it. Doesn’t understand how a crowd can get so caught up in just the look of her. It’s part of her charm. Part of her freshness. Part of that something that just makes you want to stare and wish you were her.
She’s perfect and petite. Pure Mediterranean. Her head tilts when she laughs, when she talks….about the things she’s done and will do.
She wears kaftans and Birkenstocks and loves with her eyes.
“A woman who looks like that could have anything.” Men say it all the time. And they mean it.
She could let them do for her, but why should she? She knows what she wants and it’s not just ‘anything’. ‘Anything’ is too ordinary. Too common.
Yes. Steph is gorgeous. She doesn’t see the crowd. And she laughs. Out loud.
pocketful of possibility
Last month I felt old and depressed. Like a dent in a rusted-out Ford.
It could have been the rain – carrying an umbrella puts me in a bad mood. All that delay – what didn’t I put off in June? Could have been. But wasn’t.
It was me. Just me. Full of excuses, wasted days and wait-a-minutes.
This month it’s different. And I don’t mean I’m-gonna-lose-five-pounds different, which really isn’t different at all, just something you say to make yourself feel better when you’re wolfing down chocolate and Pinot Grigio.
I mean real different.
This month I’m smiling with sweet feet – new pedi bar down the street – a sunny disposition and a whole pocketful of possibility.
I’m all about making things happen. Being more like Billy Joe and gettin ‘er done.
I’m optimism and a toothy grin with a good looking man beside me.
Life just doesn’t get any better.
july 4
Funny thing. The British don’t really celebrate the 4th. This year, neither do I.
The killer bug reared its ugly head again on Sunday.
Seriously, folks. It’s evil. I woke the next morning with broken blood vessels all over my face. People wouldn’t sit beside me in the doctor’s office. A kid asked if I had bird flu. Ebola, maybe? My doctor just said “You vomited hard, huh?”, and “It’ll heal up in a week.”
My doctor has one excellent bedside manner.
In the meantime I look like an old man who’s had too much to drink and too much to smoke. I’ll be spending the holiday sleeping in front of a fan, because bad skin and gut cramps make me hot and stress me out.
Someone, anyone…eat a dog and drink a cold one for me. And if you have any potato salad, throw that on as well. Just don’t tell my stomach.
Happy 4th!
