Is it already Wednesday? Because this is what happens to me after a holiday weekend. I’m disoriented and confused about my days and can barely remember what I did on Saturday because, well, it was four days ago.
On Friday afternoon Caroline went home from school with a friend and then I picked her up so we could meet Mimi and Bops for dinner. As we drove to dinner I informed her that she was not allowed to wake me up the next morning because I know how her little body works. Her internal alarm automatically resets itself for 7:00 a.m. no matter what, while my internal alarm doesn’t really comprehend 7:00 a.m. That’s an hour for farmers and chickens and kids who have to go to school. And none of those things apply to us on a Saturday morning.
And the chickens and farmers apply to us never.
So she let me sleep in while she watched one of the myriad of survival type shows available on Netflix. This is her new thing. She loves a survival type show. There is nothing that excites her more than someone who has to live for days off the leg of a dead antelope while dodging the most poisonous snakes in the world.
She and P were watching one of these shows together. I’m not sure what the name of it is but it’s a husband and wife who are both Bear Grylls wannabes. As they sat there watching this madness, Caroline said, “Dad! You and Mom should be on one of these shows!”
I heard P say, “Your mother has been known to leave a vacation early because the hotel didn’t have a ceiling fan and she was hot. She’s not really cut out for survival.”
And I really wanted to defend myself but I was so comfortable and felt like it was going to take a lot of effort to walk into the next room.
Anyway, on Sunday morning P took Caroline and Gulley’s boys to the ranch for a day of fishing.
Needless to say, they had to have chocolate donuts to fortify them for the long day and all the hard work that lay ahead.
After they left I posted that picture of them on Facebook. And then one of my friends, AJ, commented that the most important question was what were Gulley and I going to do all day since the kids were gone. Which was a valid question.
Gulley and I have this thing we say and I don’t even really know when it started. But whenever one of us is having a bad day or is tired or we just wish we had time to hang out together, we will say, “I wish we could just get in the bed and eat some fried chicken”.
Let me just clarify that neither of us has ever eaten fried chicken in bed. Because that seems kind of gross and unsanitary. I think it originally began as two separate concepts that might make a day better.
Eat fried chicken.
Get in bed.
See? They work better as separate entities. But in our own language we just combined it into one event. Apparently it was too difficult for us to add an “and then” into the equation.
And so we decided against answering AJ’s question in the comments on Facebook because do I really want someone I haven’t seen since high school thinking I’ve turned into someone who eats fried chicken in bed?
The answer is no. No I do not.
Anyway, Gulley did bring over Church’s chicken for lunch. But we ate it at the table. And then we sat on the couch and discussed an array of topics before finally landing on skincare. More specifically, the state of our skin after a summer of trying to use sunscreen and wearing large hats and not always succeeding.
Which is how we ended up at Sephora around 3:30 on Sunday afternoon. Normally I am diametrically opposed to going to the mall on the weekends. A stance, by the way, that was confirmed as soon as we walked through the entrance doors at Forever 21. I had no idea San Antonio has that many people, much less so many people who feel like booty shorts are a valid fashion option.
Our Sephora mission was two-fold. I needed new mascara. Gulley had read about Clinique’s new under-eye dark circle corrector. Oh, and we also wanted to try Dior Airflash foundation because a friend had said it was the best, most natural coverage ever.
But when we found the Airflash, we realized it was actually a spray on foundation. Which explains why it’s called Airflash. You have to shake it like spray paint and then spray it on your face. I’m sure it works beautifully, as well it should at $60, but there isn’t really a universe where I can imagine spraying my face with something every morning. It would only be a matter of time before it would get in my eyes and earn me a trip to the ER where I’d have to write “Makeup Application Tragedy” on my admission form.
However, I did decide to buy a tube of Dior Show Mascara. I’ve debated about it forever but finally took the plunge and I have to say that I love it so far. It’s a great consistency and has a big fluffy applicator brush that’s easy to use. I mean, it hasn’t made me look like Sophia Loren or anything but it’s not bad and definitely better than the L’Oreal Voluminous I’d been using.
And Gulley bought her Clinique under eye corrector. The guy who was ringing up her purchase was BESIDE HIMSELF with excitement over it. He told her it’s one of the best products he’s ever used and has already made a huge difference in his under eye circles even though he didn’t use it that morning because he was hung over and what was the point and he didn’t want to waste it.
I was standing there trying to take all that in when he handed me a small sample of it to try for myself because “ONCE YOU SEE HOW AMAZING YOUR FRIEND LOOKS YOU’LL HAVE TO HAVE IT”.
Which kind of made the whole trip to the mall worth it. It was so much better than eating fried chicken in the bed.
Then on Monday we debated going to the pool for one last hurrah. But Caroline said she was sick of the pool and didn’t want to go. So we got pedicures instead.
And that was officially the end of our summer.