Highway 89 || Saturday, 8.15pm

I'm sorry. I have to do this, even if it's insufferable.

This is the kind of day that demands commemoration.

It's the kind of day women dream of.

The kind of day for which we watch romantic comedies, swooning in vicarious happiness

...and also the kind of day for which we loathe romantic comedies, once their cloying perfection begins to sour in our cynical stomachs.

We stayed in bed until the morning was halfway done, doing the kind of things a lady never tells.

I got emotional later in the morning about stuff--he held me close and stroked my hair and told me I was brilliant.

I am not even lying.

I made tea for both of us, and while the morning sun slid across the floor toward noon, he read out loud to me.

(My mom texted me and I finally told her that I'd met someone.)

It took forever, but by two we were dressed and driving toward town. As we neared the intersection of Highway 22, he said "We've never been to the Village!" and we took a spontaneous left turn toward Wilson.

We walked four miles from Stilson Ranch on a snowy wooded trail, holding hands tucked into his coat pocket, while I blathered about whatever I blather about.

(Midway through I asked him, "Am I boring you?" He convincingly said, "No!")

We got to Aspens Market and browsed the aisles. At his suggestion, we sat across from each other in the empty gourmet grocery store, drinking more tea as he carved off pieces of Quadrello di Bufala with my Swiss army knife and we talked about parents and Gwyneth Paltrow and fuck if I know.

We walked the rest of the four miles back. We went to the grocery store where he bought wine and dinner ingredients and all my goddam favorite things besides...

And also Epsom salts because we came back to the house and I took a hot bath while drinking whiskey and listening to Carla Bruni.

He knocked on the door to...well, obviously, but also to bring me another cocktail.

He said that I looked really hot in my green clay facial mask.

He timed dinner to be ready within a few minutes of my exit from the bathub.

And while I was writing all this, he came and set this in my lap:

But he told me to not eat it yet. Because he wanted to sprinkle some more goddam raw cashews on top.