When we were little girls, my cousin Christy told me that if we went to heaven, we'd get to wear Christian Dior nighties and eat birthday cake every day. I was willing to concede that Christy was prettier than me and better at ballet, but back then, I wasn't willing to concede that she was smarter than me too. So I adopted the superior attitude of almost-thirteen-year-old girls every where and scoffed at her.
"How ridiculous," I sniffed. "One day maybe, but every day? That would be stultifying."
It was still dark this morning when I awakened, miraculously hangover-free in spite of last night's champagne. DH was sleeping, so I went out to the terrace off the sitting room with the dessert I didn't finish last night. I ate chocolate cake, listened to the waves, and looked out at the dark water below. In a little while, DH joined me, bringing a cup of strong tea and the rest of the baguette we bought at Pike Place Market. The breeze was cool, but my frilly little robe was just the right weight.
The water turned gold first, and then the sky, and then the cabanas around the pool. And I realised there was something I needed to do.
Mea Culpa, Christy.
You are prettier than me, and better at ballet, and you are -- yes -- a lot smarter than me too. It only took me thirty
years to see it.
I suppose one of these days I'm going to have to try on a Christian Dior nightie. In the meantime, I guess I'll have to
make do with Juicy Couture and a mai tai.