UrsulaV (ursulav) wrote,
UrsulaV
ursulav

Ahhhhh...

Today--or at least this afternoon--was thoroughly self-indulgent. Went out to lunch with Deb, which I haven't done in a thousand years, and did the thing that I have been avoiding doing here--namely gushing at length about my new boyfriend. (I haven't done it here, because A) as kind as y'all are, O readership, I realize that such things are rather tiresome to read, and B) I really, REALLY don't wanna jinx it, and I have a sort of superstitious fear that too much public exuberance might do so. And, err, C) I don't blog relationship stuff or something like that. (I know there's a valid reason I have that rule, it's just getting harder to remember why. Have I mentioned lately that he's adorable? He is.)) Deb, fortunately, is a romance writer and thus a romantic* and is capable of smiling and nodding and being happy for her friends when they are being soppier than usual.**

So we had a lovely, if thoroughly southern lunch--spicy chicken breast with cream sauce and tasso ham over deep-fried grits, with green beans--and equally lovely mocha frappes and lemon bars at the Toad, and looked at cool jewelry at the little boutique down the way and I gushed and stared off into space with a vague, idiotic expression, and she took it all very patiently, and we lambasted the vagaries of publishers and the New York Times--Deb made #2 on the NYT bestseller list a few weeks back, so hey, a big round of applause for Deb!--and mutually complimented one another's talent and wit and general coolness and recent weight loss--well, okay, I complimented Deb's weight loss, and she told me that I look great but I'm rather alarmingly skinny at the moment and need to eat more, which is entirely valid--and mutually mocked one another's mental failings and ADD and so forth.

And it was generally the sort of fabulous afternoon excursion that chicks have with their female friends. And I enjoyed it thoroughly.

And now I have to knuckle down and do some real work this evening.


*Although not quite as much as you'd think--romance writers are making do in a cutthroat and competitive business with occasionally bizarre requirement,s and thus need a hard pragmatic streak to underly the fluffiness and flowers.

**Which in my case is "virtually any soppiness whatsoever" since I am generally about as mushy as pig iron, unless small fuzzy animals are involved.
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