The Frivolity Factor

In my many years, I have figured out two things to wear:
jeans, and cashmere sweaters.
Which is pretty good, so far as they go.
But beyond that, I am a child. Please dress me.

bink is my stalwart support in most things in life, and today she helped me choose shirts for my upcoming new job--along with the young woman who was stocking clothes who said to me, "Get some basic Ts and wear long-sleeved shirts on top".

This is exactly the basic level of instruction I need.
bink helped choose good colors, and now I have some things I can put on my body that I have not worn at the thrift store for six years.
Yay!

Also yay, my doctor said the improvements in my blood tests mean I don't need further diagnostic tests. "Let's just monitor them", and she put me down for more blood work in three months.
I intend to stick with healthy eating, and I hope that will be enough.

None of this is life-threatening, btw--it's just the normal up (or down) ticks of an aging body.

But of course there's no "just" about it when it's your body!
I've been so lucky, most of my life I've barely had to pay any attention to it.
Now it's giving me gentle nudges:
"This old car will not run forever, but if you rotate the tires and keep the fluids topped up, it might should run good a while longer. And clean your spark plugs."

I'm just grateful the nudges are gentle, not the engine boiling over.

I took bink out for lunch after errands to a fancy-schmancy kinda place--the kind with curated baskets in the corners.
This is me in the hallway outside their bathrooms:

"Let's order everything," I said. "We can spend a hundred dollars." (because new job)

We got mocktails––festive, bink's had a twig of thyme, mine a slim slice of lemon. (JesusMary&Jospeph, though, they were $13 each--and with no spirits in them!)

We each got a different salmon entrée (hers with quinoa, mine with linguini), and I was happy they were American-sized portions, leaving us with enough for lunch tomorrow. This place is in an expensive shopping mall, and caters to Midwestern tastes. We are not light eaters. You want more than three artfully arranged strands of linguine with a suggestion of salmon, right? I do.

For dessert, we split poached pears and raspberry sorbet with a sprig of mint on top like a flag on a summit, resting on a swirl of pomegranate molasses and a sprinkle of arils.

And, ta-da, just like that, the bill came to ninety-eight dollars.

It was so fun to splurge--to purge the unpleasant penny-pinching, unattractive ways of the boss at the place I last worked. (I don't even remember who or where that was now...)
No frivolous sprigs there, oh no.
Did I mention? I think I didn't, that the last thing I said in my performance review--my contribution to the cause--was that I really, really think the front window with the big bullet hole in it should be replaced.
"It's been more than a year, and it's not a good look."

I predict if I go back in a few months, it will still be there.
I don't care.

I surprise myself, but I really don't care.
I am proud, proud, proud of the work I did with BOOK's, and even proud in a miniature way of Toys. I know that, except for that one time, I was kind to people, and sometimes that took some doing. I'm proud that I got better at that, too.
And I impress myself, looking back, at how I stayed upright through the teeter-tottering of landmarks that had previously seemed stable.
Good on me.
Truly.

Now, I have left the building. With a fillip of frivolity.
And I feel fine.