Bonbons?

Someone recently asked me “How do you fill your days?” as if I was retired, and although I was insulted by the insinuation that I am a piece of flotsam blowing around like a tumbleweed serving no purpose, “Take that back!” didn’t seem like an appropriate response, so I dumped my cocktail down my dress and made a dash to the ladies room. The “Incident,” as I’ve come to call it, did give me pause, however, and in order to gain some perspective on my life (as well as for anyone who wonders if the rumors are true: that I sit around all day eating bonbons and having my feet massaged; “all” being the operative word) I present a loose timetable of a typical day in the life of D.Parker.

4:40am: Each weekday at this precise time my alarm clock goes off and I throw on the gym clothes I have carefully positioned at the foot of the toilet (so I can multitask) get my ass in the car and before I am fully awake I’m walking into the gym. If I give myself a single, wakeful moment to consider the option of shutting off the alarm clock and going back to sleep, I will undoubtedly do so and then I’d be a fat, lazy, grouch with a (bigger) muffin top and a guilty conscience. So you see that I have no real choice.

6am: Arriving back home by now, I’m feeling good: the workout is done and I’m high on endorphins. To carry over the high, I make a big pot of coffee and try to drink it all before Maverick gets up and takes more than his share. Surely you’re thinking, “D.Parker, why don’t you just make more than the usual 8 cups so there is enough for both of you?” and to that I respond, I have no response.

6:15am: The high school bus comes at 6:32 sharp, so instead of starting in on those “bonbons,” I’m making Charlie a breakfast sandwich, while experimenting with new ways to rouse him from teenage, death-like slumber. (My Broadway-Diva rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” didn’t go over well, unless I misinterpreted the football aimed at my head.) I carefully watch the clock and give the kid a running countdown to when he must be out the door, with or without his shoes tied, his belt buckled or his hoodie on. Like I always say, there’s plenty of time to get dressed on the bus. I spend a few minutes painfully watching him do that teenage stroll to the bus stop, worrying, worrying that he will miss his ride. Those moments when I realize he hasn’t are among the sweetest of my entire day. Time for “bonbons?” Not yet. Time to play “house.”

7-8am: Maverick comes down for breakfast, and I encourage him to make it himself as I am very busy shuffling papers and reviewing my daily calendar, all the while focusing on the morning tv news: the international headlines are of the utmost importance…if my college kids call I need to talk like I’m smart. I also pay attention to the fashion segment. Kiss the husband goodbye. Make the beds, wash the coffee pot, wipe the counters and start the three loads of laundry that have accumulated and multiplied over the course of the last 10 hours, like rabbits only not as cute, then sneak down to the sofa to watch whatever tv shows I have dvr-ed. I draw the blinds lest someone sees me being so frivolous. Also because I sometimes fall asleep. And by “sometimes” I mean always.

12pm: Now I like to play “secretary,” a game I could never get enough of when I was a kid, and return the phone calls that came in while I was “watching tv” and then spend an hour catching up on emails, text messages and doing as much online shopping as possible before noticing the time and damn, I have to get a shower before the UPS guy shows up and sees me still in my workout clothes. (Why I imagine this as an embarrassing moment is unclear.) Besides, I probably have a lunch date. If I don’t have one, I make one really quick. While undressing I may discover that my underpants are on inside out, backwards, or both, ensuring that I spend the rest of the day feeling bad about myself.

1pm: Go out to lunch. On the way out the door recall that I haven’t prepared anything for dinner. (Unless I did leave something simmering away in my slow cooker. Those rare days commonly occur when the DVR recorded something stupid like History Detectives or NOVA or American Pickers for Maverick, instead of my Bravo shows.) Back to lunch: I usually have a big salad and one or several cocktails.

4pm: Heading home from lunch I review in my mind the dinner situation. If it’s a non-slow-cooker day I run to the store and pick up some prepared food. On a slow-cooker day I go straight home, (stopping only for a manicure and/or a Starbucks Grande Skinny Mocha), go through the mail, and play with the dog. While playing with the dog I usually look around at the yard and make a mental “honey do” list for Mav, and sometimes remember that I never finished the laundry. I run the washer again, thereby washing that first load twice, in case clothes have gotten smelly sitting in a wet washer all day. If I completely forget about that load until morning, I have to throw it away and start over.

6pm: Time to play house again, as I make a big stink about setting the table, serving the dinner and having to clean it all up. The minute I declare the kitchen “CLOSED” I put on my pajamas on and get ready for my “nap” before bedtime. If there are going to be “bonbons” (Oreos) I gather them along with whatever wine is left in the bottle and make a bee-line to the sofa. I’m not gonna lie, there is the rare occasion when making a comment like, “Ugh my feet are killing me,” or “Boy did my day suck,” or “We had the worst waitress today,” could lead to a very short, but pleasant foot massage.

So there you have it. I guess you could say the rumors are a kinda true, although tomorrow I must veer off my usual routines as the leaves of my indoor plants are in dire need of polishing, and I need to flip the cushions on my sofa so the sun fades them evenly (which clearly can lead to flipping all sorts of cushions on other days, and maybe even rugs, depending upon how things go). Nonetheless the next time someone asks “How do you fill your days?” I will hand them a copy of this dissertation and reply, “Very well, thanks!”