Being single is not all it's cracked up to be.
I remember those years. Yet, there is freedom to indulge your imagination and do things you wouldn’t dream of doing if you were married.
In my case, there are five things I’d do if I were single tomorrow.
First and foremost, I’d buy a Mr. Coffee. Crazy as it sounds, this is at the top of my list because I’m tired of our fancy coffeemaker that brews one cup at a time, uses pods and needs constant descaling. And I’m not convinced the coffee is that good. If it were up to me, I’d throw this German whiz-bang out and purchase the best coffee maker ever made. If it was good enough for Joe DiMaggio, it’s good enough for me.
Two, I’d get a cat. My dear, 16-year-old cat Winnie died almost two months ago, and I miss her every day. Yes, I know we’re free to travel for as long as we’d like now without hiring a cat sitter or coming home to clumps of fur and litter all over the floor. But there was nothing better than dragging our bags through the door and being confronted by our abandoned cat (to hear her tell it) and all her meowing and ankle bites. My plants were never that happy to see us.
Three, I’d get rid of my husband’s wine cooler. This thing sits at the end of our sweeping black granite counter that spans most of the kitchen. It’s tucked away and you can’t see until you bump into it. Which I do several times a week. I have bruises on my hip to prove it, and they never go away because I’m always hitting myself on its pointy doorframe. Besides, I’m not a wine drinker. Give me a martini with some olives. Gin fits nicely in a kitchen cabinet and doesn’t need to be refrigerated to an elitist 54 degrees.
Four, I’d stop shopping at Costco. I know, it’s a great warehouse store with bargains and friendly staff. But we live in a condo building, on the fifth floor with views. That’s why we bought the place. We had to downsize to move in. So we don’t have room for 40 rolls of paper towels and gigantic plastic containers of washing detergent. It takes us a year to use up 20 bars of soap (my husband showers at the gym). Instead, go to the neighborhood supermarket and buy household products on sale. Small ones. But my husband likes his Costco runs, and I don’t mind going with him from time to time. Thus our linen closet is stuffed to the gills with Kleenex boxes in designs I don’t like.
Five, I’d eat shrimp. My husband and I are mostly vegetarian, but I’ve been known to eat the occasional shellfish or mollusk. Meantime, my husband has no use for “bottom feeders”. And he doesn’t like the smell of fish cooking. That doesn’t mean I could never fix shrimp scampi for myself some evening (and turn the stove fan on high), but then I’d have to make two dinners, one for him and one for me. Yes, he’s capable of making his own dinner, but you know how it goes. It’s easier on everyone if we put it all in one pot. Do you have any idea how my list of dinner options would open up if I could edge shrimp curry onto the menu? I need to be taken out to dinner more.
A few minutes ago, my husband came up to me sitting here at my computer, touched his lips to my hair and said, I love you. He doesn’t know what I’m writing about, but he is the reason I will probably never do the above five things. I dream about them, but then reality kisses me on the head.