Final installment of Mrs Fringe Takes a Vacation–I promise!
Much as I’d like to be, I’m not that gal. You know the one; who appreciates everything she has, cleans the toilet thinking how lucky she is to be living somewhere with indoor plumbing, and is grateful to have (reasonably) working limbs and the luxury to grocery shop when the refrigerator is empty. The one who takes a vacation and thinks, wow! I so appreciate a life where I was able to do that, what a wonderful time I had, and now I’m happy to be home.
I want to know when I can go back. Art Child and I agreed we would start a jar of coins dedicated to our next vacation. I thought about the jar of coins I already keep, the one that’s supposed to go towards Christmas presents, but usually ends up spent on a bill, or groceries, or some other necessity.
I’m the one who picks up the free real estate magazines whenever she goes anywhere, and imagines how it would be to live there. The one who spends the entire thirteen hour drive home trying to figure out how many dogs she’d have to walk to buy a little beach house. (Yah, I know, I haven’t been able to dog walk because I got all broken.) And ok, not so little, because I’m not alone. Maybe not on the beach, because insurance. And hurricanes. So, walking distance to the beach. Still in the million dollar range? Ok, reasonable driving distance. So maybe then I’d need to have a pool, because it’s hot hot hot there, and I wouldn’t want the girl to spend all her time off the beach locked in air conditioning. Who’s that knocking at my door–Reality?
Fuck you, Reality, I’m not ready to end my fling with Fantasy. Talk to me next week.