I think with two different minds. Some days it is with my fairy-tale, happily ever after one. The one that gifts me with (ahhhh) passionface. And other times I think with my clear and unclouded (not as fun for me) but just as important one. But in both, I believe in guardian angels. I often wonder how many are watching over me. Perhaps I just have one really, really good one. One who responds to my mishaps with superhero speed because he isn't prepared to walk me through those pretty pearly gates just yet...if that is even where I am going. I imagine my guardian angel to resemble my Mr. Roark, but with a beard. He is fluent in the language of love and romance, drives something really manly, doesn't mind if I give large amounts of money to the homeless, forgives me when I make a second trip to the bank to give more, knows my favorite (impossible to find) flower, going to any lengths necessary to send me them, and loves and even encourages my irritating vegan lifestyle. A man like that must be an angel. Although Webster has deemed the word "angel" as being gender neutral, I have decided that I prefer to call mine (who I am convinced is a man) my guardian hero. Since in my very own personal dictionary, "angel" is reserved to poetically describe the most pure and seraphic of women.
I had another close call today. One that may have not quite put me six feet under a pretty little bed of flowers (make them Dahlias, please) like Mr. Gala Apple and Miss Rebellious conspired to do last week, but it certainly had the potential to leave me scarred for life. Like I said, I must have a very diligent, loyal, and undoubtedly committed guardian angel.
I had decided to give myself a little "at home" facial today. I started with a stimulating "steam". I drew a pot of water over the stove, and when it reached a soft bubble and a whispering steep, I threw a great big, fluffy towel over my golden locked head and allowed the veil of vapor to invigorate my delicate skin, drawing out any impurities, smoothing and softening it back to the feel and glow of rose colored satin. All of the sudden, I heard the soft vibration of my Blackberry, sitting close by, awaiting my attention. I reached for my closest friend and retrieved a text. I drew my juicy fruit-named companion under my hooded towel and began tapping a response when all of the sudden, a frantic and forceful smell overcame me and fear enveloped my being as I realized that my favorite towel was on fire! While sitting upon my helpless head!! I am humbled to say that I lost not a single hair on my body, thanks to my Mr. Roark look-a-like hero, who allowed a frightful situation to not harm me one bit. By the way, do you know how fast a towel goes up in flames? Me neither! I was paying more attention to my Blackberry than to the smell of embers and the bright glow that was beginning to surround me at a rapid and ravenous rate.
Oh, you think the fun stops there, but no! The afternoon gets better. Once I put out the flames and cleaned up my floors, I made my favorite mask out of carrot juice and egg whites. I did have to send Bella, who was home "sick", to my generous neighbor's house to borrow an egg. I regret that I do not have a lot of vegan recipes calling for those incredible, edible, non-fertilized offspring of the world's most popular fowl, so my fridge is often void of them. Now, ladies, this mask makes your skin ohhhh so very tight and soft. Trust me, nothing you can purchase at Saks or Neiman's could ever compare to this homemade, fountain of youth that costs less than a hay penny or two to make. I applied my miracle mask and decided to go soak my feminine frame in an oval of opalescence, which is just about one of my favorite (not so secret) indulgences. This practice seems to encourage time to swiftly slip away from me as I tend to daydream the minutes, sometimes hours, away. But thank goodness my number one distraction is never too far from my grasp and beckoned to me, once again, reminding me that I was nearly late picking my son up from school. I removed my shape from the ceramic, white, bubble-filled wonderland and took a quick glance in the mirror in front of me. I was now wearing a second mask which Mr. Smith lovingly refers to as my clown make up. I call it ProActive. It had only been gracing my skin for five or so minutes, but truly needed to remain on another ten to be effective. I had to make a very quick decision. I left it on, threw my wet locks in to a towel, covered myself in very little dressing, hoping that Miss Rebellious wouldn't try anything mischievous, and away I drove. I was a few minutes late and found my son starting to walk his way home. As I pulled up, our eyes met and you would have thought that I was Uncle Buck, pulling up in a Mercury Grand Marquis, by the way my son was looking at me. To tell you the truth, I was surprised that he got in the car with me, although he wasn't happy doing it. As we pulled on to our street, I was so relieved that my bad luck streak didn't continue with my car breaking down on the road, leaving me to walk, scantily dressed, with bare feet, a towel on my head, and clown make up on...that is until I was greeted by the carpet guy at the front door who had left his tape measure at my house earlier in the morning. Sweet. My guardian hero saves me from bodily harm but does nothing to prevent me from self humiliation. (A man with a sense of humor is my favorite kind, so I will not complain. Even though Ayn Rand did not write Howard Roark with even the slightest hint of comicality, I always believed he had it in him!) I am so very thankful that flames didn't take my long, golden locks today. Although, I did leave my hot rollers in for way too long and ended up with Shirley Temple hair for my night out at the game with Mr. Smith. But, how sweet was it when he escaped for a moment to buy me a Valentine-red UNLV hat to tame my unruly tendrils so that I would feel more comfortable while cheering on my boys, who, sadly disappointed, playing down to the Air Force. How teary it made me that at the bottom of the third, the score was a mere 28 to 28? I don't even know who won!?! It had better have been us. If not, oh well! Because never fear, there is always next year! I STILL LOVE YOU, REBELS!! PS- Do you want to borrow my guardian hero for a while??? Or should you just work on making that ball in to the basket?
By the way, I made the embarrassing episode up to my son when we got home, allowing him to pop all my Valentine balloons and suck out the helium. I'm kidding. I would never allow him to do that! OK, so maybe I turned a blind, steel blue eye to one, but then I actually had to mommy wrestle him and my giant Mylar heart to the ground so that he wouldn't kill anymore of those precious brain cells!
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