Red wine and cowboy boots

Well, hello there, Friday. You beautiful thing, come give mama a kiss.

I desperately try not to wish my life away but I have been looking forward to today. It hasn’t been a long week, not really. If anything, I feel like time is rushing by like one of those super speed videos; I can hardly believe that June is past the halfway mark, 2017 is almost half over, and life is just going by quickly. All the same, I have been looking forward to cracking open a bottle of wine tonight.

Speaking of which, last night I was in Superstore, which is my wont on evenings that the kids are in karate. Usually at that time – which is non-negotiable for me – it is a disaster zone. Things are unstocked, empty cardboard half-boxes sitting on shelves which previously contained my much-desired items. But not last night, dear reader, NOT LAST NIGHT. Last night I got every last thing on my list, including a three-pack of Romaine hearts, which they NEVER have in stock when I shop. I got everything I wanted and in record time, so I thought I’d pop into the liquor store to grab a bottle of wine.

That’s when I saw it: Wayne Gretzky Cab/ Shiraz, on sale for $13.77 a bottle. The friendly man working there asked if he could help me, and I just said “I’d like a case, please.” In and out, and then tonight I will be able to enjoy that delicious wine and revel in my (relative) thriftiness.

It’s been a busy week though, and I had a dentist appointment, which I always dread. It’s the scaling that gets me, every time. That scraping noise just gives me the chills. I floss daily and brush my teeth several times a day, and scaling is still a torturous process for me. Maybe it’s the red wine.

Honestly, given the choice I’d take a Pap test over dental scaling, even with my ham-handed doctor searching for my elusive cervix. The last time I had a test I endured what felt like hours of poky cervical torture, and then a week later the office called to say that they’d made a mistake with the sample and I had to come back for another test. I nearly cried. But cervical health – like dental health – is no joke, and so off I went, only to find out that the doctor needed to use a totally different speculum, for my special-snowflake lady-parts. “Remember to ask for the LARGE speculum next time!” my doctor cheerfully said, which was a hit to my already-beaten-up feminine mystique.

I’d still take that over scaling. However, no one wants to end up with a mouth full of dental issues, and so I shall soldier on.

Today was the elementary school’s Stampede Breakfast, our last one. I got all kitted up in my annual cowgirl wear; I was responsible for manning the syrup station. It was literally the easiest volunteer hour I’ve ever spent. I kind of wished I’d volunteered for that every year.

If you’ve ever wanted to dress up for the Stampede, or if you are not in Calgary and you – for reasons unknown – need Western-style wear, I refer you to my post of yesteryear, entitled How To Dress For The Calgary Stampede Without Looking Like An Idiot. Since the writing of that, I have actually purchased cowboy boots; I bought them last year for the Zac Brown concert. They were breathtakingly expensive, and so I justified the cost by promising myself I would wear them often and incorporate them in a cute way into my wardrobe. They are, without a doubt, some of the most comfortable footwear I have ever had on my tootsies, and so I thought that would be easy.

I have worn them exactly zero times since then. Well, except for today. I guess today really brought down the average-wear cost. At this rate I will be wearing them in the nursing home, in fifty years or so, when it’s Country Western Theme Day, just to justify the cost of purchase. I’ll wear them with my old-lady beaded and fringed cowgirl dress, my lipstick bleeding into the lines around my mouth. It’s going to be great!

Some people think of nursing homes as sad places they never want to end up in, but in my opinion, it sounds kind of nice. I mean, in fifty years do I really want to be worrying about my hot water heater or who’s going to mow the lawn? No! I do not! I want to be concerned with making my macrame owls or whatever happens during craft time; I want to have someone else make my meals and wash the floors. Bloom where you’re planted is my motto; I want to be like that 98-year-old yoga teacher when I grow up. With red wine and comfortable cowboy boots.

Favourite Outfits of My Teen Years

It's no secret I love clothes and fashion, and I always have. Every day is an opportunity to play dress-up, in my opinion, or at least to wear something pretty. Some of you may remember when I Kondo'd my house (and life), I discovered something … [Continue reading]

A very long confessional post about bathroom cleansers.

Something very momentous happened this week, an event that is quality-of-life altering for me. Before I get to that, a little background information. Most of you who have known me for a while know that my go-to cleaning solution is white vinegar. … [Continue reading]

Who’s a good doggy?

Yesterday I was in my front yard, happily watering my gardens, when my across-the-street pulled up. I chatted with him for a few moments about the gorgeous, sunny weather and his beautifully blooming double-flowering ornamental plum tree. As he … [Continue reading]

No One Here Gets Out Alive

Today just seemed like an ordinary day, but apparently the apocalypse is upon us. How else to explain a lineup at Costco that looked like this, at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning? There was really no other explanation. It couldn't have been the … [Continue reading]

Coming to terms with the tulips.

Today, my normally-vigorous morning yoga practice consisted of the following: four sun salutations, a few restorative poses, and a very long savasana in which I fell asleep. I don't know what was going on with my body this morning but I listened to … [Continue reading]

Swimming in a sea of flowers.

I just finished taking care of a fundraiser for next fall's Grade Eight Quebec trip. Is my thirteen-year-old really going across the country without me for a week, with no contact whatsoever? Yes, he is. No phones are allowed and so I will not even … [Continue reading]