The Perfect Day

Well, since today is my $#@!&-th birthday, I thought I'd put together my best day. A day where everything went perfectly, and I got to do whatever I wanted.

First of all, I'd wake up next to Dyno. (Or maybe a young James Garner, if we're really wishing here.) He'd bring me a Starbucks café mocha, nice and hot, and we'd watch television in bed. Perhaps "Snapped" on Oxygen, or "Dog Whisperer" on NatGeo.

Then after a couple hours Dyno and I would finally get up and take my dog on a nice walk along the beach. (The dog wouldn't poop the entire time -- it'd be a miracle.) And it'd be a beautiful, sunny, and clear day, too. Oh yeah, and I'd be tan and weigh about 20 pounds less.

I come home and all the laundry is done, the house is clean, the dishes are out of the dishwasher, and a nice lunch of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and pickles have been made. And a nice Manhattan to go with it all. I turn on the television to relax and eat, and the newest episode of "Survivor" is starting -- yes, even though it's Monday, and not Thursday.

Dean Martin, Joan Crawford, Errol Flynn, and Esther Williams call during the day to wish me a happy birthday and to ask what my plans are. I speak briefly with them, but really I just want to spend the day on the couch with Dyno. I fall asleep and end up napping until it's time for dinner, preempted by a few cocktails.

For dinner, Dyno takes me to the Playboy Club circa 1965, and I'm like Doris Day, wearing a beautiful gown with a matching coat, hat, and gloves. We sit and watch Bob Newhart do a stand-up routine, and then Mel Tormé comes out and croons to us. Dinner is a thick prime rib steak, lobster mashed potatoes, and a bold red wine.

I'm not going to go in to what happens after dinner. But let's just say (as they do in the old movies), the curtains flap in the wind and the camera pans left and then we fade out.

...And that's my perfect day!