I only had one drink. One. It wasn’t even a big drink. It was one little drink. One little insignificant, girly, flavored daiquiri. OK, so maybe it was a big drink…one great big blended fruity girly rum-based drink. But we’re still talking about me here…it really doesn’t take more than one. One drink and the room spins. One drink and my face flushes bright red. One drink and the keyboard is blurry.
It’s a good thing I don’t look at the keys when I type.
It’s a good thing I wasn’t driving tonight.
It’s a good thing I don’t have anything better to do than go to bed and sleep.
And I should certainly sleep well tonight…with many good dreams in my future.
Speaking of dreams…
I’m not sure how I ended up having a drink tonight, anyway. One minute we were driving back from dropping Mike’s youngest daughter back to her mother, and the next thing I know, we’re whipping up daiquiris in the blender and I’m remembering an almost eerily similar moment from a few years ago when after dropping Mady at home we found ourselves sitting outside a neighborhood café, and I was ordering a pineapple martini.
I decided then it would be wonderful to do this on a weekly basis. I wanted to have a love affair with the neighborhood café. Especially the ones with an outdoor patio. Especially on beautiful nights when the temperature dips below eighty, and the gods grace us with a cool breeze just to put a lovely cherry on the top of our Sunday night.
So on that night almost two years ago, as we sat at our little café table, beneath an umbrella, on the patio of the cutest neighborhood café in the historic shopping district of Roswell, Georgia and sipped our drinks—my martini…and his imported beer—and chatted with the people at the table next to us, I dreamed of a day when that would be my life.
It gave me hope for the future.
Hope for a day, somewhere off in the not so distant future, when I could sit at a neighborhood café with a drink. Maybe even reading a book as I do. Maybe with some really pretty mountain views, and temperatures somewhere in the low seventies even in the daylight hours.
And here I am…mountain views from my very own porch…blended daiquiri in my hands…home.
Sometimes dreams really do come true.
Until the next time…I’ll be working on tomorrow night’s Daywalkers!