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.
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!
ReplyDeleteThe windows were open. And I am a hopeless romantic. If you really want to swoon, you should hear Elvis do My Funny Valentine. Yummy.
ReplyDeleteI'm not swoonin' there!
ReplyDelete