Why don’t you fly to Èze and get a custom fragrance constructed at the Fragonard factory? It’d be ever so chic to have your own personalized cologne or perfume. “Where did you get that?” envious people will ask. Then you can casually comment on how you flew to the south of France to meet with a Nose. They won’t understand, and you’ll pat their hand comfortingly, leaving a trace of your fragrance to burn jealously into their heart.
Why don’t you plan a weekly viewing party for American Horror Story? By the time you’re reading this, you’ll have already missed the premiere, but that’s your fault, isn’t it? There’s nothing more glorious than dressing in your best blacks, taking a meal to your giant television and then SCREAMING FOR AN HOUR ABOUT HOW RYAN MURPHY HAS STOLEN FROM YOU. Maybe that’s just me? Every season, though, reader, he thieves ideas from me. I won’t get into it now, this weekly post is not supposed to be more than a quick read, BUT: I finished writing my next novel this spring. One of the major characters is named The Countess. This is divine inspiration on my part. One of the major characters in this season of AHS is The Countess played by the divine Lady Gaga. Our Countesses are very different, BUT STILL. Have some decency, Ryan. [Update: So far he’s only stolen my love of Art Deco hotels and the name from me. But we’ve only just begun.]
Why don’t you find a brand of frozen food that you like and stock up your freezer with them? It’s so nice not to cook every night. It takes ages. Last night, I made a frittata, a salad from the garden, and I baked a loaf of bread. It took all effing night. I didn’t get anything else done. I didn’t even manage to wash the dishes, but what else is new? If I had a freezer full of vegetarian meals from Trader Joe’s, though, I could have happily warmed up some palaak paneer and had a life. Oh well.
Why don’t you spend an evening with a gigantic map of New York City on cork board and pin all the locations where Martha Stewart might appear? You’d have pins stuck at Balthazar, the Martha Café, Momofuku, and a dozen other places that I have in my file. Then, when you get to the Big Apple, you’ll easily be able to track her down and get an iconic selfie of you drinking cappuccinos and and looking like best friends. What? This is normal adult behavior. Martha will find you unbelievably charming, so she’ll surely invite you to Bedford and then Skylands, and before long you’ll be a vital part of her squad.
Why don’t you call the president and tell him (or her, depends on when you’re reading this) to do something about the infestation of Asian Beetles? They’re miserable. They are the worst. I literally spend an hour every day when I get home vacuuming the beasts up. They swarm around my lights. If you know anything about me, you know that I have lights all over the place from all sorts of angles. Unfortunately, this draws the monsters closer. I have resealed windows and patched the screens. I have done everything in my power. I even made little traps that the damned bugs ignored. I can’t beat them. Do something, OBAMA. (Or whoever.)