a) Lack of opportunity to pursue a date. Humidity. Storms. Vomiting cats. Helping friends move furniture the better part of Saturday. Wireless internet at the apartment uncooperative.
b) Lack of desire to pursue a date. The internet was down....so what, eh? I'm a modern woman who likes bars and people. But the feet haven't stopped throbbing since an ill-fated trip on the elliptical machine Friday night. All day Saturday in a crusty XXL college t-shirt, plus unwashed hair, further eighty-sixed any enthusiasm to feel, much less appear, attractive. So I stayed in with the cats.
And as if that didn't do the trick, the local Blockbuster rejected my one attempt to draw myself back into a better mood: rent Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Something about not having a membership there for the last 3 years and the store being out of applications for new membership. (Wondered if looking like I just slept in a garden all day had anything to do with lack of cooperation....) I walked empty-handed up Dorchester Street at 9:30 Saturday night feeling lame, lamer and lamest. No Elizabeth Bennet, I.
This weekend left me so damp in spirit (and hair) and sore of feet that I don't even have the energy to be depressed this morning. And as if on cue, yet another black thunderstorm is now rolling in over the Charles River to obscure all views. I guess there is one positive to this: it gives a morning spent in a theoretical mental fog appropriate visuals.
Oh well. Last evening, fueled by chilled pork and caipirinhas from an afternoon picnic, my verve briefly reignited. I folded and put away clean laundry, swept the porch free of storm detritus, and made use of the three big sticks of rhubarb going bad in my fridge. The result: kick-ass crisp topped with Cool-Whip, which came down with me to Quincy for a couple enjoyable hours of noshing and man-hating debriefing with girlfriends.Which is exactly the note on which a post about a dateless weekend should conclude.