It's getting bad. Even the "thrill" of getting to watch Ellen everyday is starting to wear thin. She tells a lot of the same jokes over and over. Maybe the show isn't meant to be watched everyday. Maybe once or twice a week is considered adequate? Oh well, I'm going for the record.
I'm starting to fantasize about trips to Starbucks and Target. That's it. That's as far as my imagination can take me these days. Anything farther into the realm of the exotic is too depressing to contemplate. But really, right now the Starbucks down the street would be a satisfying "vacation".
Husband and I used to go to Starbucks every Saturday and Sunday; tall, no foam latte and tall soy, "extra chai" chai. crossword puzzles and business sections. I was a prize-winning starer--there's never enough seating in Starbucks, so you always have find the people who look the most "done" with their coffee, their pastry, their reading, their studying, their conversation, and then just stand there, looking sad and forlorn until they get up and leave you their seat. You have to look around and away from them a little bit, so as not to seem "creepy" or too accusatory ("hey, mr. 'i'm done with my coffee and just taking up space'; I've got a whole latte and a muffin and nowhere to park it--get movin'!"). It works like a charm and in 5 years, we've almost always ended up with a seat within a few minutes in an otherwise crowded Starbucks. What can I say, I have the gift.
Our new, local Starbucks is so small and "local" there are some regulars that I am sure think, "ugh--here comes that girl" when they see me walk through the door. They seem to be onto me and I can sometimes see them shift in their seats, as though planting themselves more firmly in place. So actually, this bed "arrest" might actually work to my advantage---by the time I am actually allowed back to Starbucks, they may have forgotten me and my magical "give me your seat" vibe will be renewed. Or perhaps my new, post-pregnancy chubbiness (which I am just assuming I will have to deal with) will throw them off and they won't be able to place me; it'll be like a whole new "give me your seat" girl as sprung up in my wake...And, also---the next time I am allowed to spend a Saturday morning at Starbucks, we will be toting a screaming, pooping newborn with us; that should clear the room. We will have our pick of seats! Maybe even one by the window....
Until then, I guess I will be content to have fabulous, wonderful husband make the trip to the coffee mecca on his own and bring me my tall soy extra hot, extra chai chai and crossword puzzle to me, in bed. In a lot of ways, it is much nicer. I'm in my jammies, there's always a pen for the crossword and the only other patron taking up space on our bed is the cat.