Have you ever just stood in front of your kitchen table and screamed?
Next time you’re angry or upset about something. You should do it.
It’s life altering.
Every girl should have a little brown dress.
She should wear it to one of her best friend’s weddings.
She should learn to salsa and meringue in it.
She should dance with a groomsman in it.
With the power vested in me.
By the city of New York. The state of New York. The country of the United States. The northern hemisphere at large.
I now pronounce it.
Summer.
I am going to live. In this apartment. In this room. For the next four years.
I am going to live. In New York. Within a five block radius of exactly where I am now. For the next seven to eight years.
(Unless I get married. To a fine gentleman who whisks me away. To Brooklyn. Or the upper west side. The kids and I will go for walks in Prospect or Central Park. I will carry things like parasols and wear things like shawls and say things like dahling. It will be lovely.)
I am sticky.
I am sticky because it is humid. It is so humid that my stress fractures hurt and, if I weren’t already committed to becoming a food network star. Physician. Research scientist. (Sigh.)
I could seriously give Mr. G a run for his money.
At the gym earlier this week. I decided to take a census. I was on the elliptical. Reading about fungal infections (don’t I lead a wild and wacky existence). When all of a sudden, it just popped into my head as something I ought to do.
So I walked around the room, from cardio machine to cardio machine and asked each person (in-between intensity intervals of course. I’m not quite ready to deal with MIs yet. Or cardiac arrest. But I can listen for heart sounds. I won’t know if they’re irregular. But I can hear them!).
“Are you a man, woman or both?”
This is New York City. Assume. Nothing.
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
Summer
