the perfect sunday
I wake up.
And the perfect Sunday begins with an iced coffee with a splash of horchata, followed by a walk with the dog while holding hands with the husband. A long, long spell at the bookstore. Write a little. Read a lot.
A museum, if we have time. A movie, if we don't. Definitely dinner in the neighborhood; either shrimp tacos at the Mexican restaurant or tom kha kai soup at the Thai place down the road. If it’s a shrimp taco night, I’ll smile and say, “I’ll have the sangria, please. Extra fruit,” which is the sweetest, most romantic phrase ever uttered in the English language. Maybe buy some flowers on the way home.
And then we go home and maybe play some Mario Kart or maybe watch an episode of Orphan Black; and afterwards, I read. I stand in front of the little bookshelf and agonize for a few minutes: what do I take to bed with me tonight?
I choose a book, and snuggle with it under the covers while my husband watches Game of Thrones.
And then I fall asleep.