During my sophomore year of college, I got a job working on campus for the school’s summer sports and dance camps office. It was a lovely lovely job with some delightful coworkers, several of whom were major readers. I hadn’t read much for fun in the past few years and it was so nice to slip back into the habit. One of the women in particular would pass books around like candy. During the summer, she lent me the first two Shopaholic books.
I was going to Milwaukee with my dad that weekend – kind of a last hurrah together before I got married later that summer – where he was lecturing. I flew in late on Friday evening and when I woke up Saturday morning, he was already gone for the day. With nothing to do, no homework, no responsibilities at all, I pulled the books out of my luggage and crawled back into my hotel bed and spent most of the morning reading. It was a perfect day.
Yesterday, after working from home all morning, I looked up the local dollar theater and saw that there were two matinee showings of Confessions of a Shopaholic. I told Bart, who was hard at work studying for his finals, that I was going and I drove off, slipping into the theater just a few seconds after the show started.
It wasn’t the best movie I’ve ever seen (which isn’t surprising since they certainly aren’t the best books I’ve ever read either), but it made me laugh and I felt again that sense of total freedom. Here I was, once again without homework or responsibilities, spending the afternoon alone in a movie theater, feeling ridiculously joyful when Becky asked how Luke had gotten a scarf back when his phone-in bid been had been out-priced by a girl at the auction and he replies, “both of them were me.”
It was a perfect afternoon.