The Queen and Her Love for Fancy Pants

A little while ago, a solicitor came to the door, selling some kind of "miracle" floor cleaner. It was really weird, because he offered me a free can of Glade Air Freshener if I let him clean my mom's floor. He asked me if I was "the queen of the house." I should have said, "No, I'm just the hired help" but I ignored it. I thanked him and dismissed him as my mother's house cleaner was actually here not 24 hours ago (and she found out her baby is a girl! we're all very thrilled). Mom and I laughed about it afterwards, and it's certainly not like I'm doing slave labor around here (though I've got half a dozen "bosses" and it won't be long before Paizlee joins the ranks) but I decided that for the rest of the day I'll go ahead and act like the queen.
This should not be such a difficult task. For one thing, my life already feels luxurious. Yesterday I went to Trader Joe's, and you can't get much more elegant than fancy-pants produce. I bought blood oranges. I bought endive. I got cherries and strawberries and heirloom tomatoes. There were some huge croutons in my basket as well. And they have this little frozen appetizer, a puff-pastry shell filled with feta and caramelized onions, and it is a must for my next fancy dinner party. Thank you, Trader Joe's, for making me feel like Ina Garten at a fraction of the price. Thank you for having vegetables no one else in Albuquerque carries!
Yesterday's brief pop into Albuquerque also afforded me a TJ Maxx opportunity. Stop your tutting if you are condemning my shopping, because I am the Queen, and can do whatever I want. Including finding a SMOKIN' deal on some premium denim. Yes, friends, I'm wearing LITERAL FANCY PANTS. I saw a cheap pair of jeans, in my size, in a brand I'd heard about but dismissed because of the price tag in retail stores. On a whim, I tried them on, and hallelujah! They are a touch long (of course, all my jeans are-- sleeves are typically long on me as well), but the miracle of the holy (and hole-y) pants is they stay put at the waist, and there's none of this underwear exposure that inspires so many of those blasted groomer-types. Or at least, not as much. But I'm stoked.
My life is further filled with luxury as I've had a bit of spare time today. I guess all the hard work has begun to pay off a bit, because I'm actually caught up on paperwork for a day. Therefore, my mind and hands have been engaged in pursuits much more pleasing than insulation. I found out yesterday that the Boho Babes may be reunited early for a spring show in Artesia, so I've worked on a new, Anthropologie-inspired project for the sale. Even more enjoyable has been reading MY FAVORITE BOOK SERIES (of the moment), with literature's most desirable man. No, I'm not talking about Edward Cullen. I'm reading another Amelia Peabody mystery, and I'm in love with the fictitious Radcliffe Emerson. Elizabeth Peters got it right when she created my ideal man-- he's tough and rough-around-the-edges. but smart and strong. Yes, he is bull-headed, but he and his wife are PARTNERS. On their own, each is remarkable, but together they are unstoppable. Sorry "real-life men" everywhere. I'm holding out for an Emerson.
And, as usual, I find luxury in life's off-beat surprises. Who would have thought my favorite music station would be found on the AM dial? How lucky am I to have become super friends with Mr. Tattoo Antiques, a guy who I LOVE and who LOVES everything I find at his store (though I don't think I've ever found anything at his booth). Every time I see this little man, Sugar Ray starts playing in my head. I laugh because I've got another tarot-reading gig for a Mardi Gras party, and I'm happy that tonight I'll see one of my besties I've been cruelly separated from for two weeks. Tomorrow is the flea market. I am the queen. I may just wear a crown from now on.