Saturday night:
As the city's frantic holiday energy buzzes, Saturday nights are usually the climax of such Christmas events and nights out. As the city dwellers flocked to watering holes and bars, Purple Turban and I had a different kind of weekend: we went shopping for linens and were home by 10 in the evening.
If someone told me, say three years ago that one day, I would be pillow and towel shopping on a Saturday night, it would have meant an angry stare and a drink in the face. Now, however, I take strange pleasure in spending a more quiet night that involves home stuff shopping, tea, and foot massages. There is no drama, no shouting matches (not that we have any since we're civilized people), no back-of-the-mind questions that wonder if one of us is cheating on the other. What we have is a kind of quiet that is neither unsettling nor awkward.
The change is quiet drastic, I admit but it's been part of the whole domestication process that has been going on for a year now. Sure, it may have this mushy connotation to it, but I don't really care: I'm happy, I'm loved, and I could make a cake for myself. As far as I'm concerned, it's in a win-win situation.
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