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« The Homebody Goes Camping | Main | Sunday Zen »


"We should go out more," I tell him. I'm suddenly fearful of youth slipping away from me.

We should be in bars. We should be dancing until 2am. We should be ordering Maker's Mark on the rocks, dive bar wine, pints of Blue Moon. We should be finding the address for someone's rooftop party. We should be weaving down streets, looking for a cab. We should be in Brooklyn.

We should be wandering the halls of museums, taking in the new exhibits. We should be commenting on Pre-Raphaelites, paying too much for a midtown coffee. We should be picking out paint colors on the way home, deciding which fabric would look best on the couch.

We should be driving upstate. We should be flea-marketing. We should be hiking. We should be finding the best spot for our tent. We should be rolling up to the front door of a B&B, pulling overnight bags from the trunk, reading maps.

We should be planning brunch, standing in line for popcorn at Film Forum, fighting the crowds in a Soho side street.

"Huh. Wet and muggy all day. Shall I make us some coffee?"

"I could do with a few hours curled up with my book."

"We could make a batch of soup, too."

"We should just stay in," I tell him.

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