It was a gorgeous day today: perfect enough to meet my specifications, even. Not too hot, not too cool. But, it was also Gary's birthday, and I said I would do anything Gary wanted to.
Gary wanted to:
Sleep till three in the afternoon.
Wake up and watch the war for two hours. (Why do they have a vision of Hell behind Wolf Blitzer's head? What is that?)
Take a little nap from five till seven.
Wake up and watch a show on MSNBC I can only call "Best of the Tsunami."
Eat sausage and cheese and Jelly Bellys, then have a little lie down until nine thirty.
Watch Big Love and Shameless.
And then, I ASSUME, go to sleep.
I don't know. Perhaps his Love Language is sleep.
Gary shares his birthday celebrations with his sister Sandy, who was born within a few days (well, 3 years and a few days). She likes scented candles. "They relieve stress!" Other stress relievers are singing, watching candle flames, and aromatherapy. She hasn't turned her back on my chosen stress reliever: eating.
Well, Gary purchased some of those fat candles in glass jars with lids. This brought up the annual discussion of CANDLES ARE A FIRE HAZARD and the traditional telling of AUDREY PUT CANDLES ON HER COFFEE TABLE AND THEY BURNED DOWN AND THEN BURNED THROUGH THE COFFEE TABLE AND THEN BURNED A HOLE IN THE RUG. Every. Year. Every single year they have the same conversation and no ones mind ever changes.
Karen tried a new tack this year and tallied up what Sandy spends a month on candles. Futile.
I think Sandy's love language is candles, maybe. "I know you make bad decisions, Sandy, but I trust you with fire."
I don't burn candles. I don't see the appeal unless it's a party. Any candles I have now are burned in the fireplace, partly because Karen would walk around my parties and blow out the candles, and partly because I don't want to worry they'll burn through the coffee table and burn a hole in the rug. The Candle China Syndrome.
Which is better for when you really have to empty your bladder?