Life is but a dream

As I lay curled under the covers reading this morning, my mind turned to my Grandma Phyllis. She was always talking about her “stories.” Blah blah this, and blah blah that, on and on about the half-dozen soap operas she watched every day. I would roll my eyes and sigh with impatience and think, I will never be such a loser as that. Huh. Hooked on soap operas.

“So, last night on Angel? When Wesley did that thing, and Cordelia did that other thing, and then - omigod - Connor? Well, and then Lila. Could you believe what happened? No one will ever recover from that.”

Hello, my name is Kelly, and I am a soap opera addict. The only difference between my grandma and me is that my “stories” come on at night. Except now they don’t - since I can watch them any time of the day on dvd. So now, I guess, I am officially my grandma. Go ahead, roll your eyes. I don’t care. She also liked to write and she could shoot a rifle and make anything she wanted to with her hands. She even used to sew monkey clothes for a living.

You heard me.

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At the bank the other day, Ruthuline was asking me when Scott’s coming home. That’s Ruthuleeen, not Ruthuliiiine, only the way she says it contains several more syllables than one would normally use, her being southern and all, but that’s neither here nor there.

Anyway. She was asking me about Scott and I told her that this time apart has been a good opportunity for me to stretch my wings and break out of a habit of dependency, as I’d always been “a princess” - allowing, nay demanding, that Scott do my every bidding at every hour of the day. Him being the sweet-natured teddy bear that he is, he’s always seemed happy to comply, but that’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t know what I could do because I’d always let him do for me.

After I left the bank, however, I began to get a little anxious. What if she’d taken me literally? What if she believed I was a real princess and started curtsying to me every time I waltzed in to play with my money? What if she and the other tellers began addressing me as “Your Most Royal and Esteemed Highness”? Should I practice the royal wave and solemn nod? Will I have to wear my tiara? Maybe I should buy a pushup bra so I’ll look alluring in my empire-waist robes. Oh, gah, I have no shoes… I really need Scott to come home so I don’t have to think about these things anymore. They worry my pretty little head.

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And to think I was going to waste our time talking about mullets. Picture a tiara on one-a those. You guys, have a great day. It’s gorgeous here. kiss xo