Monday, August 13, 2012
Isn't that nice?
Take me here. Wrap me in a kaftan. Strap me in sandals. Hand me a cold mint tea. You know, the kind with sugar and drops of rosewater in it. Please?
I'm tired of those electronic announcements in the subway about the MTA's right to search my bag. I'm over the exhaust of yellow cabs and navigating the murky waters of pothole puddles. Concrete is murder. My feet are stiff as boards! So please, when you take me to the Riad El Fenn hotel in Morocco, make sure there is a licensed massage therapist nearby. Spa services always make me feel much, much better.
And when I'm done with the massage, I'll take a nap. And when I wake up fromt the nap, I'll take a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Thank you! In return, I will forget to grind my teeth at night or obsess about the fact that my body is being overtaken by skin tags and moles.
And after we eat hummus and lamb and pita and olives, we can dance in the courtyards under flecks of disco light cut by glass. By we I mean my husband and me. We'll be together, of course, and he needs everything I need. Except replace the tea with coffee and swap the wine for beer.
There. Isn't that nice?
Images by Patrick Cline