Philip treated me to a light pasta and copious amounts of wine last night. He’s great, and you should all get to know him better. One of my first husband fantasies involved me busily working in the studio all day and then my French or Italian baker husband returning from work all covered in pastry flour, exhausted from filling cream pufffs all day, but with just enough energy to tear off my clothes and make love to me right there on the studio floor, a cloud of flour forming around us, and then we’d share one perfect cream-filled something or other that he’d carried home from work, our bodies stuck together in a sweat and flour and hair paste.
Philip is SO that guy!
No flour clouds, but we spent most of the evening dissecting, well, harpooning, our various loves, and talking about food and where I’m going to throw my 40th bash next year. I want to rent a place in some fabulous and foreign city, and have everyone come visit and see fabulous art and eat fantastic food with me. I’m thinking of either the Trastevere in Rome, or the Place des Vosges in Paris, or even a farmhouse in the Marches or Umbria. So start saving those Frequent Flyer miles and come celebrate with me next November. So I’m going to be older than everybody on Thirtysomething? What a thought. I haven’t stopped feeling 18 since turning 18. When does one feel grown up?
Off to the Maya show at the Legion today, with Dean Dean the Dancing Machine.