Blue Friday Night

After a few hours of shopping, breakfast, more shopping, some ling lines in a fitting room, and a lot of patience wearing thin, the kids have had enough. We are happy to return to the car, thankfully parked in a primo spot and make a hasty exit.


I need a nap for sure, but also need to clean my house. My time remaining with the kids is waning and I dread their leaving. I usually see them off to school on the “hand off day” and do not actually have this kind of death row last meal kind of time. We talk and laugh and they don’t hesitate to help me with a few household tasks. They tell me it was the best Thanksgiving ever. Nice to hear.

After they’ve gone, I take a short nap. I am exhausted from the early hour, the cold I’m fighting, the forceful letting go of Scott. I am actively pushing him from my thoughts. It is a full time job.

But a friend is joining me right at 5 pm for a walk to a neighborhood pub and some good girl chat. So after a little light snooze, I jump into the shower, make myself fabulous, put on some fun jeans (again embroidered – this time up the backs of the legs- screaming to be touched) and a cool sweater. Perfection. Just in case we happen to bump smack into Mr. Fabulous. Not likely. I live here. If Mr. Fabulous lives here, too, I already know him, and he’s not actually that fabulous.

We down a few beers, rehash the latest thoughts on Scott so we can never mention him again, and have a few laughs. I tell her how warmed I have been by some of the lovely sentiments I’ve gotten from some unlikely friends and acquaintances. I show her some Facebook pictures of them, so she can put faces with identities. She thinks a few of them show real potential.

There is one who on paper looks fabulous. But he is a very far to the right religious man and I am sure I’d be a huge disappointment in that department. I am a Reformed Catholic as opposed to an Orthodox Catholic. I am sure the explanation would send him clutching for the nearest Rosary. And he’s a die hard runner. And I will never run. Unless a mad man with a big knife is chasing me. I want a man who will lay in bed with me on Sunday and read the New York Times. Not one who is going to call me from three counties away in his nylon shorts asking if I’d like him to pick up the Times because it is just hitting the newsstands.

There is Christopher. Cute, lives on the water somewhere. Takes lots of photos of birds. Adorable. And funny. More my speed. No outrageous fitness hang-ups. And he’s been so nice. And funny as hell.

My friend tells me to keep an open mind. The next great thing could be lurking anywhere in any form.

But for now, James is blowing up our phones. Where are we? What are we doing for fun? He spilled turkey brine all over his floor and is frantic. Can we come have a beer and make him laugh?

Of course we can.