The Perfect Day is my birthday, an incredible day with as many hours in it as it takes for me to experience all the joy I deserve.
I wake up to the sun streaming in my window and the sound of the birds singing. D is next to me, and I snuggle up against him, and drift back to sleep. I have one of my many inspirational dreams about Heath Ledger. When I wake again, D is gone. I watch The Daily Show on TIVO, and Jon Stewart features Samantha Bea, and interviews Joan Jett, Jennifer Garner, Susan Sarandon and Queen Latifah, all of whom are not only incredibly sexy, but also extremely liberal, well spoken, and intelligent.
D comes back to the bedroom with a venti pumpkin spice latte, even though it is not “in season”. June, of course, is Dairy Month (at least in Wisconsin), not pumpkin month. I drink my venti latte while listening to all my favorite songs: I start out with the instrumentals from Brokeback Mountain, then move on to Willie Nelson, then “King of the Road”, then perhaps some rockin’ Johnny Cash. No one comments on the fact that I listen to this music over and over. In fact, the kids have gotten up also, and they are saying to me “Jeez, Mom, this is such GREAT music. Can you play it again?!” The musical interlude ends with the Rolling Stones singing “Waiting on a Friend”.
After everone hugs me and kisses me on the cheeks, the kids go away. (Where? I don’t know, I only know I don’t have to worry. It’s my birthday.) I read a magazine from cover to cover with no interruptions, it has the trashiest gossip, tons of photos, and great tips on how to dress well and accessorize for less than $50.00. Then, I’m feeling kind of randy (all those shoes and purses did it for me, I guess), so then I have some wonderful sex with DTE. I finish first, and since I don’t feel like being generous (it’s my birthday) we stop when I’M done. I then go shower, and wash my hair with Aveda Shampure which smells lovely.
It’s morning again. I wake up, again to the sunshine and birds and the fond memory of the Heath Ledger dream. DTE is still asleep next to me, so I quietly get out of bed, slip on some shorts and a tshirt and go outside to get my bike. My chest is so small I no longer need a bra. Bliss. It’s about 6 a.m., no traffic on the road, and it is 73 degrees. I ride my bike around the lake at a leisurely pace, then stop at the Starbucks around the corner from my house and have an Earl Grey tea with milk and sugar, along with a piece of lowfat blueberry coffee cake.
I return home, and see everyone has gotten up, gotten dressed, and made their beds. I do the shower thing as above, then my parents stop over to drop off all of my gifts. “Maggie,” they say, “We know that normally on your birthday we are at the cottage and tell you if you want your gifts you need to come and get them. Well, this year we just wanted to SEE you.” I open the gifts, and then my dad hugs and kisses me and tells me I am his favorite, and he has decided that instead of selling his Mercedes, he’s going to give it to me.
So off they go, and I go to the salon for a massage, then a pedicure and a manicure. I also get my hair styled just for the hell of it.
I drive over to the bookstore, and find every book I’m looking for, and sit in a large comfortable chair to browse. I realize that there is another gift in my pocket, it happens to be a no-limit gift card to the book store. I buy every, single book that I want, and I also buy a few for the kids too. There is a very attractive woman, somewhat dykey looking, with a bubbling and confident personality at the check out counter who asks if she can help me carry out all of my purchases. She tells me she has seen me many times at the bookstore, and thought I looked so interesting and intelligent. Just like the kind of woman she wants to know. She tells me she’s been looking for a friend, and would love it if we could hang out and get to know each other. She gives me her number.
I get in my car (the new one, the one that the driver’s door opens so I don’t have to crawl in through the passenger side. ) and go home. Everyone is now in the back yard, where all the grass has grown beautifully and all of the flowers are in bloom. I get on the hammock, and lay in the sun and read. My friends seem to be stopping by, one by one, all commenting on how great I look in my bikini (“Have you lost weight?” seems to be the common theme amongst them, along with “Oh, your tattoo is too cool!”) DTE is busy mixing up gimlets and lemonade/vodka slushies. I love him. It’s so nice how each friend comes right as I reach an appropriate stopping point in my book.
The kids, who have been riding their bikes, suggest that we now go to the beach. The four of us walk down there, and the dog walks by our side, with no leash, because he would never dream of barking at an approaching stranger, norwould he run off. We have a lovely time at the beach, and it seems we have brought a picnic, as well. The kids play together nicely, GMan reads a book out loud to Lucy, and I work on my non-skin-cancer-causing tan.
I meet up with Gigi and TV and Leisel and they all get along splendidly and we shop. We shop at wonderful stores that have so many flattering clothes in my size. Of course, my breasts are still much smaller, so none of the shirts that I try on gape at the buttons. I use my gift certificates to purchase items. We hit the shoe stores too, and every shoe I try on is incredibly comfortable, and the perfect compliment to the handbags I scored earlier.
We become parched during that expedition, so we stop at a bar with an outdoor patio. We enjoy the sunshine and drink many drinks while our waiter, who looks amazingly like George Clooney, tends to our every need.
I’m a bit tipsy, so George drives me home.
I eat dinner with my family. My wonderful husband, (who loves everything I brought home, including George Clooney and the woman from the bookstore who are kindly out of the picture, for the time being) my perfect, beautiful, love of my life son, and my incredible, amazing, funny and lovely daughter that I’ve always wanted. We eat lobster for dinner. Salad made with spinach and strawberries. My favorite wine. And cake, of course, cake. My cake is the most moist, white cake, with custard in between the layers. The frosting is a perfect chocolate – not too dark, not to mild. Raspberry jam decorates the top. This must be what D and the kids were doing while I was out…
I open my gifts. An ipod! Oh my god, and all the music I want is already loaded! The Brokeback Mountain DVD! Oh, the soundtrack from Good Night and Good Luck. I love Diane Reeves. And look, Barbara Kingsolver has written two new novels! Wonderful! oooh, more Chanel Coco Madmoiselle. yum. A case of my favorite wine? Really,you shouldn’t have.
The kids ask if they can please take baths. We have two bathrooms of course, so they each go to a bathroom to get clean and ready for bed. D and I sit on our porch, the dog lying contentedly at my feet, and we continue to drink the wine and watch the sun go down. It is still 73 degrees.
The freshly clean kids come to say good night, and it is obvious they have flossed and brushed too.
They go to bed, and our favorite babysitter comes over. She says “Stay out as long as you like! I have nothing more I’d rather do than sit here in your living room. I love your decor, and I love your dog. Your kids are total angels. Oh, and this one is on me of course, because this IS your birthday.” I love that young woman.
D and I got to our favorite bars. It’s still warm out, and every bar has an outdoor deck. I’m wearing just the coolest outfit ever. I look strong, I look hot, I look confident, I am sexy. We end up at our favorite bar, and everyone is there: Teresa, Ellen, Paula, Jen, Michele and Erik, Sara, Ed, Steve, Gene, Grandma, Dad, Mom, Kathy with her new husband, Gina and Andy, Tony,Hallie, Nick, Marc, Peter, Mary and Mary, Cynthia, Rudi and Marta, Sherry, Lisa, Richard, Marilyn and Gary, Terry, DJ and Molly, Jennifer and Sarah, Molly M, and probably George Clooney and Joaquin Phoenix and Heath Ledger too. Oh, and the Stones are playing live. Bonnie Raitt and Aretha Franklin play the second set, and Willie Nelson is there too.
I drink and drink and dance and dance. I never get too sweaty, I never get too drunk. I smoke non-cancer-causing cigarettes. Grandma, Dad and Mom leave, and then things really get crazy. There’s lots of shots, lots of hugging and sloppy kisses and dirty dancing. I win at pool. I flirt a lot, and only because everyone is flirting with me. There is so much laughing.
When I go home, I am taken home in a carriage, and it is still warm out. 73 degrees. I do not smell like smoke. I’m only pleasantly buzzed, in that 2 glasses of red wine kind of buzz. There is quiet jazz playing, and the carriage takes us around the lake before dropping us at home. (Who knew George worked so well with horses?) I go upstairs to my new bedroom, the one my wonderful husband and partner has made. We get into bed (our sleep number mattress adjusted to each of our individual needs) and look up at the skylight. It’s a full moon, and I kiss him and tell him thank you for the perfect day. We spoon, as always, and I sleep the sleep not of a drunk person who will be hung over the next day with a collosal headache, but instead, the sleep of a baby.
The next morning there is no let down that I have to wait another 364 days for my day.
