So I’ve been trying to figure out what exactly might be my “guilty pleasure.” It isn’t curling up with a nice glass of wine (or better yet, with my own signature amaretto martini) after a hard day . . . or a good day . . . or a Friday . . . or Saturday. Because medical science now confirms the health benefits of a glass of wine now and then (and I’m convinced that the discovery of the health benefits of an occasional amaretto martini is not far behind). Nor, is it my reliance on dark chocolate when all else fails because as everyone now knows dark chocolate is practically a health food. And my occasional indulgence in a kosher bologna sandwich (on white bread slathered with mustard if you please) doesn’t really count as a guilty pleasure, because it’s an expression of my cultural heritage, right? (Hey, the rest of the world had shellfish and bacon and those marvelous crusty marshmallow Peeps at Easter. All I had was Hebrew National.)
Ah, but I definitely do have ONE guilty pleasure. So secret even St. John doesn’t know about it … until today, of course. I absolutely LOVE to sleep. Adore it. And never feel like I can get enough of it. And now that I’m working from home, well, anytime can be nap time, right? But medical science has recently proved that a brief nap in the middle of the day actually makes us more productive. (Do I LOVE medical science or what?) So nothing to feel guilty about from the 20-minute snoofter after lunch.
But … and here is my confession: I get up every morning with the rest of the family and scurry around trying to at least look as if I’m helping them get out the door in time for school/work with something in their stomachs, a lunch for later and hopefully all necessary shoes, books, coats, papers, etc. for the day ahead. And then at 8 o’clock, they’re gone and quiet descends on the house once again. And then, sometimes … not often, mind you or it would be a slothful habit rather than a guilty pleasure … but sometimes, just once in a blue moon, I crawl back under the covers and get just one more hour of precious sleep. And it’s wrong, I know it’s wrong. It must be wrong because it feels so good. I mean, I can barely overcome the twinges of guilt I feel even as I am falling blissfully back to sleep. (Oh, but overcome them, I do!) You should be writing the next great memoir, the little voices in my head shout. Or at least cleaning the bathroom! But I ignore the mean little voices as they become more and more distant as I doze off.
Usually, in an hour, I wake up and the book that needs writing and the bathroom that needs cleaning are still there, but I feel like the cat who ate the canary, or the marshmallow Peep, as the case may be. I’m all happy and well-rested and ready to take on that book and that bathroom!
And that, my friends, is my guilty pleasure revealed. Since we were on the topic, I recently asked my best friend* what her guilty pleasure was. “Mayonnaise on everything,” she told me. I had no idea! And now I wonder, what’s your guilty pleasure? Drop me a comment. I want to know!
~ Deb Eve
* HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SUSAN!
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