spoiled on a deck

I took a sick day yesterday, but it was more of a day-to-be-a-non-editor-wear-my-little-sister’s-Victoria’s-Secret-tank-top-and-drink-margaritas-on-the-Riverwalk-with-my-other-sister.

For a few hours, I was living someone else’s life, and felt spoiled.

At a time of day when I’m in the middle of a pulsing newsroom directing stories, staving off hunger with saltines, and asking for rewrites on stories, I was sitting on a veranda in San Antonio eating Mexican food and drinking a frozen strawberry margarita.

While pigeons ran across my feet trying to get to the chips my sister was throwing them, I wondered if this was some strange otherworld people live in. Is this what rich wives do while their rich husbands work? Are women with predictable schedules afforded this luxury? Do people who work downtown eat at Café Ole on their lunch break? And drink a margarita?

Regardless of how or why, I was there on a Wednesday afternoon with my sister and other people who, for whatever their reason, could escape the rigors of Wednesday, and take a tour of the (smaller than I had imagined) Alamo or shop or eat ice cream.

Through the course of yesterday, I decided that mid-week hours of spoiling should be mandatory, that my wisdom teeth are soon to be extracted by a dental school resident, that a molar is also coming out, and that God honored the Texas’ governor declaring some days of prayer for rain.