MONDAYS AND BUTT-DIALING

Gosh, I love Mondays.

Wait.  No I don't.

Gosh, I love wine!  Yes, I do, I really, really do.

Aha!  It's Monday, and I'm drinking wine.  Eureka!  I love Winey Mondays.

I'm out doing my Thanksgiving grocery shopping Monday afternoon.  I don't really want to do the shopping Monday, but it has to be done.  The longer I wait, the more crowded it will get.  Besides, if I end up with a frozen turkey, it will take days to thaw.  My list is two full columns long and includes some staples I've been putting off, like detergent and hand soap and toilet paper (okay, truth be told, I never ran that low on TP, people, be serious).

I pull into the driveway, unload the bags from the back of the car, haul it all inside, and unpack the bags, sorting meticulously as I go as to what goes where.  I have just finished putting the refrigerator stuff away when my cell phone rings.  It is my friend who apologizes for missing my call, but tells me she was just thinking about me. 

Weird.  I hadn't called her, but I was just thinking about her, too.  I wonder if while unloading groceries I accidentally butt-dialed her.  I wonder if our connected psyches contacted each other.  Either way, I ask her what she's up to.  She's about a half mile from my house running an errand.

"Come over for a glass of wine,"  I say.

"I'm pulling up your street now," she replies.

 It's like our cell phones knew we needed to see each other.  It's eerie and yet completely and totally normal for us.  Sometimes it just happens this way.

My house is a disaster.  It hasn't been cleaned since the last wedding a month prior, and I have dry goods from my shopping trip piled all over the kitchen.  To make matters worse, I hauled the Christmas stuff up on Saturday, and the boxes are still littering my living room.  I move the boxes, bring some cheese and crackers in to the living room with us, and we proceed to suck down half a bottle of pinot grigio (because the Suavignon blanc is almost empty).

We talk about our college-tethered sons, commiserate over bad choices in relationships, lament the weather, and piss all over the holiday plans we actually made.  You see, for a brief moment in time, the two of us are going to blow off our obligations and go stay in a hotel somewhere that is near a Thanksgiving-meal-serving restaurant.

But, alas, I have just purchased a half-thawed bird and have great plans to bake, bake, bake my little (fat) ass off.

That's when I remember that I forgot to buy squash.  That's right, you heard me: I stood in the store debating the merits of fresh vs. pre-peeled vs. frozen squash, then spaced-out and forgot to buy any. 

I probably have to hit the store again, anyway.  I want to buy fresh fruit and tequila, not necessarily in that order.  You see, Thanksgiving may be an Americanized holiday, but that doesn't mean Jose Cuervo is disinvited to the celebration.

Besides, if it weren't for a random butt-dial, or perhaps a message that circled Pluto before arriving at a phone mere miles away, I wouldn't have remembered about the squash at all.  And hey, by the way, it's Monday, and that half-bottle of wine is suddenly and completely long-gone.

Just like that.  Poof!  It's a moment exactly like this that makes it all worthwhile. 

Here's to good friends and bad judgments,  incomplete shopping trips and completely empty bottles of pinot grigio.  Here's to us!

And here's to Monday (which in 24 short hours will be Tuesday, anyway).

Gosh, I just love Mondays.  Uhhhh...., honestly ... I kinda do, even when I don't realize they've gone by until Tuesdays.