If there was one thing I would bottle, besides the feeling I get when I’m sick and my son strokes my forehead (who’s the parent here, right?), it would be the weekends. You know the ones when you awake feeling fresh and new, no hangover, no additional work, no obligations… just good.
I’ve become quite selfish about the weekends. Oh yes. I like sleep ins, followed by the warm intoxication of fresh coffee. Sporadic conversations with Wolf, in between passive jazz notes. Shared showers. And lately, slowly making our way down to youeni.
Reunions can be a frightful thing. I remember the nerves I had before mine in anticipation of all that judgment.
The final report card. This would almost determine whether I’d made something of my life. Are the hot people still hot? Are any of the nerds frightfully successful? Are the sweethearts still besotted? I felt like getting a t-shirt made up to save the record-jarring spiel:
“Catherine. Work in PR, have my own agency, a baby son, still with (the ex), we live near the city, don’t really keep in touch with anyone.”
But instead I wore a knock off Chloe dress from eBay and decided to travel with a lovely acquaintance who lives nearby and works in the city. We rode in the car, the wind billowing all that conversation in the hour it took us to get out west. Upon arrival we were welcomed as “the city girls”. Great.