I picked up the book I’ve been reading with a set plan to devour it today. I half sat, half laid on the sofa, as my body reclined against the glass door that stood between me and the ocean. I read a few pages, as the cool ocean breeze caressed the right half of my body. I haven’t known what cold means for weeks, but suddenly it felt cool enough to justify the use of a light blanket. I got up and found the closest thing to a blanket in my parents’ apartment: a beach sarong. I wrapped the printed sarong around my body like a shawl and resumed reading, thinking of how ridiculous I probably looked and caring not at all.
I read until the natural light coming through the door was all but gone. I remember only getting up from that couch once, to prepare a dish of toast with light mozzarella cheese accompanied by green olives stuffed with pimento peppers and a glass of refrigerated red wine. I half despise and half love my parents for refrigerating their wine. The daughter in me loves them, finds it even endearing, especially since my mother takes it one step further by adding carbonated water to her refrigerated wine. The wine lover in me, however, screams blasphemy!
No matter. I poured the cold wine in the fanciest crystal goblet I could find and took up my spot on the couch once more.
I read until I forgot who and where I was.
Sometimes life can be so sweet.