Go to bed at 10pm the night before, belly full of beans and rice and a glass of wine (it’s the weekend). Sleep until 9am. Foist the morning walk on your lovely husband who, after all, has been away the whole week, leaving you to mercilessly drag the dog up and down the block watching the time lest you’re late for work (which you were). Make a pot of tea. Manage your bank account while it steeps, based on the directive to do one unpleasant but necessary chore before breakfast and thus before the day really starts. Pour a cup of tea and and cut the banana into your cereal bowl; add rice crispies; eat.

Read the travel section and the real estate section first, to indulge your more acquisitive, aspirational impulses. Then the opinion pages, then Modern Love, then read the real news on the iPad app because let’s face it, you’re more accustomed to reading things on screens than paper. Wonder when that shift happened. Consider mourning it. Read bits of the news aloud to your husband even though he is, himself, sitting in front of his own information device consuming the information he chose to consume. Be grateful that he’s back. Take a moment to look at the dog curled up in his ridiculously large bed (three times his size, a gift from your mother), your sunny living room, your pot of tea, and forgive yourself for being such an unrepentant yuppie.

So read the paper. Browse some blogs. Start considering lunch; decide that rotisserie chicken and a greek salad can be assembled from the belly of the fridge. Feel gratefulness that there is good food to eat in the fridge. Have another cup of tea.

Suggest seeing a movie that evening. Offer two options: The Adjustment Bureau and Jane Eyre. Laugh when your husband asks warily if this question is a test. Be not-so-secretly pleased when he agrees to see the one he knows you most want to see. Play with the dog, who at this point has gone bananas over chicken-based lunch preparations. Enjoy your new knife.

Suggest an afternoon outing that involves walking the laundry to the laundromat and going down the hill to the flower shop on 5th. Check flickr. Talk to your mother. Contemplate changing out of loungewear around 4pm. Sit down to write this. Get back to your Saturday – you unrepentant yuppie, you.

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