Saturday, April 18, 2009

My Elvis

My bedroom is painted. Elvis Costello is singing on A Prairie Home Companion at this very second whilst I type. I am swooning. I am swilling a celebretory Corona. With lime, naturally. I would love to take a long, steaming, soaky bath. But the bathtub is full of stuff from my closet. Like shoes and luggage and my stash of Bath & Body Works products. Earlier, Mr. Costello sang one of my absolute favorite songs, Indoor Fireworks. I know he was singing directly to me. I swooned. And, at least I think, it wasn't the paint fumes. Definitely not the paint fumes.

3 comments:

Ed said...

Admit it, it was the paint. Open the gosh darn windows and quit being incurably romantic. This is the age of cheap, sleazy everything. I am not cynical, don't even think that!

Bellona of Avalon said...

The windows were open. And I am a hopeless romantic. If you really want to swoon, you should hear Elvis do My Funny Valentine. Yummy.

Ed said...

I'm not swoonin' there!