Right this minute

I lost another ring. I'm bitter. One of the drawbacks to having lost a couple pounds means my fingers shrunk and I had to start wearing my Tiffany ring on my index finger. In the mornings it would fall off and after I washed my hands things would be dicey. Now it's just gone. Don't tell anyone but when I re-parked the car (I discovered it as I was driving away from work this evening) and retraced my steps from this late afternoon, I went through the trash can in the bathroom. I didn't go all the way to the bottom, though, so if it doesn't turn up somewhere in the office at Lincoln Tower then I will forever be thinking about it, sitting in the bottom of the black trash liner, in a dump somewhere. Nice.

But it's sunny and I have stuff to do this weekend and a little bit of cash and the pre-sale at Nordstrom and a fresh pedi and naps and kitties and I have my health and it was just a stupid ring in the grand scheme of things.

But now I need something to perpetuate the tan line on that finger that is slowly fading. I should have tanned after work tonight. I still could right now, but I'm really tired and don't want to bother with it. I should go put some laundry in, I should go vacuum, I should go tan. Instead I'm catching up on my DVR and then I'll probably go to bed around 10 because this, folks, is what my life has become.

Sitting at home on a Friday night, watching Million Dollar Decorators and the Real Housewives of New York, mourning the loss of a Tiffany ring, waffling between getting dressed again to tan or traumatizing the cats with a good vacuuming.

It's not so bad.