Sunday bloody Sunday.
I have such a love/hate relationship with the 7th Day. You never know which one will show up — Sunday Funday or Sunday Blues.
Let’s begin with the countless, beautiful aspects to the Day of Rest. Especially when no events are scheduled and the weather is unseasonably perfect. The morning included one of my all-time favorite digestible forms of love — nooks and crannies. An english muffin is delectably delicious and can be topped with a variety of parties for your mouth…morphing to whatever time of day meal you fancy — peanut butter and honey, a mini pizza, or faux egg mcmuffin. Breakfast/Brunch is my favorite meal to cook, especially for others.
Then I scooted over to church which is literally two doors away. As part of the service, witnessed a beautiful baby girl get baptized. She was a bit older than the typical tyke that gets blessed with a bath of holy water and sported a full blown afro topped with a white satin headband. Hands down — ethnic, mixed and dark-skinned babies are the freaking cutest creations, ever. It took all my self-control not to pretend I was the Godmother just to be on stage with her adorable self.
Then I made a hodgepodge lunch at home and watched a movie on TNT — Ladder 49. Had heard of it before but didn’t know the storyline. Basically it chronicles a firefighter’s life as he sits trapped in a burning building and reflects on his past. A total hopeless romantic, I savored each and every unconditional stare and embrace Joaquin Phoenix gave his girlfriend turned fiance turned wife turned baby’s mama. I could practically taste the love he had for his sidekick…and all I could think was, “Man…I hope my husband looks at me that way.”
Willing myself to go to the gym, I decided to take a nap instead. Then just as the sun was beginning to slowly set around 4, I made my way over to The Staircase. I’ve had maybe half a dozen experiences with this 56-step masterpiece…usually when I’m too lazy to drive to the sweat shop. In fact, when I first moved downtown, it was the very first address change inheritance I noticed. Last January I hired a trainer to whip my butt into shape for a bridesmaid dress and he introduced me to the art of staircase climbing. Although brutal, it is the perfect workout with cardio, strength and balance training wrapped into one.
The part of town I live in literally has the word “hill” in it, hence the unusually steep slabs of concrete every few blocks. As I maneuvered my way up and down, up and down, up and down, while trying to disregard the fried chicken permeating through my nostrils from a local shop, per usual…I managed to find a direct correlation between the uncomfortable act of climbing and dating.
In the beginning, I was excited and inspired by the challenge. By the time I was into set #2, and my legs began to shake, necessary energy and willpower dwindled. The final round was the toughest and ultimately had to make a decision — finish what you started or walk away before anyone gets hurt. This same exact routine is what goes on in courting. Will the effort be worth the outcome?
It was this subconscious thought process and the following part of my day that accidentally transported me into the lonesome zone. Although the agenda of events was lovely, it was spent solo.
I strolled across the street to pick up some ingredients for dinner, place-setting for one. While walking home, passed a young guy & gal holding hands and right out of a screenplay script…pecked while waiting for the light to change. Just in time for the 6 o’clock news, settled back into my comfy sofa that was clearly designed for two bodies to snuggle on while enjoying my third course of the day with about three days worth of Lemon Chicken stir-fry leftovers stacked in the frig.
There is just *something* about Sunday that screams Couple. During a perfect fall backdrop just like today, ideally it would have entailed a duoship of watching football, making a co-grocery store run for the week ahead of menu items while pushing each other into end caps with the cart to make light of the monotonous task, cooking & eating dinner together, and finally cozying up under a blanket that doesn’t quite cover both sets of feet.
Although the last year has been a good chance for me to sort out husband criteria, test prospects, and heal from the past, I can’t deny that I miss being a sidekick…my DNA was constructed to be a companion. Sundays are undeniably meant to be Fundays, but they’re also meant to be shared.
