As an IWOM, I find myself draped across a chaise lounge clad only in an exquisite silk charmeuse peignoir set an admirer brought back from France. There is a glass of champagne in my hand and nearby, sweetmeats and chocolate bonbons await my possible consumption.
Soon, I will have a soothing bubble bath with exotic scented oils that perfume my body and keep the skin supple. This afternoon I have invited several prominent philosophers, artists and other assorted people of learning and culture to my salon. The hour is nearly upon me, but I don’t rush… IWOM don’t rush.
As I luxuriate in my bath, I anticipate the exchange of words and ideas… Witty repartee and opinions voiced with passion. I will not say overly much during this precious time… I will float amongst the guests, asking questions and listening intently. Attempts to pry information from me on my personal life will be met with a long gaze, a hint of a smile and maybe the slightest of winks, nothing more.
Then, I awake from my Sunday nap.
I brew some tea, scoop out the kitty box, think about the items for work I need to read over before Monday morning, cross of all completed weekend to do items on my list, and contemplate dinner…
Well, shall it be the Stouffers Corner Bistro Rosemary Lemon Chicken? Hmmm… Decisions, decisions…
