This is me right now by the hotel pool.
I came out with my laptop after a hot bath in my enormous tub to let my hair dry and try to gauge how conspicuous it would be if I were too slip into the water in a black sports bra and panties. It’s pretty quiet down here at this hour, and the other guests don’t look like undercover officers of the Socially Acceptable Swimwear Police. I will continue to pre-meditate this crime of fashion.
If I look a little smug, it’s because I have never spent a Monday evening this way: with my feet up on a lounge chair, laptop aglow in my lap, the lightest, most floral urban air I’ve ever smelled breezing down the back of my t-shirt. I’m facing the hotel fitness room, which I’m not allowed to use because of my back injury. A workout is a nagging temptation, but for the first time in weeks, I’m content with the alternative.
(Heaven Sent by Keisha Cole is in that iPod earbud.)
