Smart people–my mother, my mother-in-law, my brothers, Tim, my friend at the market–say that I need to take care of myself. So tonight, rather than rushing out the door to do the grocery shopping after supper, I said to hell with the grocery shopping and drew myself a bath.
I am not a bath person. But when in Rome. To mitigate the annoying bathroom fan noise, and to up the self-care-ambience, I extinguished the light and fired up every candle I could find in the house.
I put Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back on the turntable and resolved to listen to the entire album (those of us unused to languid nights need conceits for lolling).
Lest lolling prove too much, I had a good book at the ready. But I did not need it.
It was a an unmitigated, relaxing success.