Collecting Freckles

Saturday morning. I wake up refreshed, rejuvenated and sans sleep marks. Slowly, ever so slowly, I stretch the muscles that have been lying dormant for the last few glorious hours.

Mr. Darcy lunges at the moving objects under the sheets that have sparked his curiosity. Like the natural predator that he is, he has been awake for hours, just waiting. Waiting for something to move.

I think about the day and what I have in store. A small smile of satisfaction sweeps across my face. There is so much to do. The piles of laundry on the floor need to be washed. The mounds of clothes on the floor need to be folded and hung. Counters cleaned. Dishes washed. Floors vacuumed.

But that’s not why I’m smiling.

“Why,” you ask, “are you smiling then?”

Secretly, I know none of those things will be done. Not today. Today is devoted to one thing.

Collecting freckles.

I make my way to the edge of the bed, sit up and stretch again. Sometimes, you just can’t stretch enough.

As I walk to the closet, I narrowly miss an altercation with the lion sitting on a pile of dresses. He looks up, peeved at the near death experience, squints his eyes, pins back his ears. The lion is hungry. Not to be the meal of choice, I divert my attentions to the kitchen instead.

Darcy races me there. He wins every time.

Back to the closet. My bathing suit is on the floor, where the rest of my closet is. Pick it up. Put it on. Tie it securely. Double knots.

Sunscreen is key. SPF 30. SPF 45 for the face and neck. No skin cancer here. Just freckles.

I get my bag together.

Magazine? Check.
Book? Check.
Water? Check.
Towel? Check.

I tie my hair back with a scarf. There’s no need to be fancy.

Walking out the door, I send my love to the little lion stalking me from behind the couch. I make my way to the pool.

Sitting in my lounge chair, I close my eyes and imagine the wind blowing my hair smells like salt. The moisture in the air is hung heavy with sea spray. I can hear the ocean roar when a car passes. When a little boy laughs, I imagine it’s his first time to the ocean and he has been knocked to his knees by an incoming wave. In my daydream, he gets up, squealing excitedly, and runs up to the arms of his dad who is further away from the water’s edge.

Like an outdoor sauna, I can feel my body relaxing with the heat. The ocean looks so inviting from here by the shore.

I dive in. Cool water shocking my body’s senses. Come up. Catch my breath. Avoid the large pink float heading my way. It was a close call. I get out. Walk back over to my lounge chair…try to decide whether it’s time to lay on my stomach. Saturday’s big decision.

The magazine titles call to me:

“His Body (A User’s Manual)”

“7 Ways to Outsmart a Rapist”

“Feel Sexier Naked – 4 Steps to Total Body Confidence”

“Don’t Bend Over Backward for Him”

Sure, nothing like reading informative and useful literature. I open up my girl-porn and learn ways to tantalize men and the shocking confessions of women whose men are beyond hooked to you know what from behind. I can feel myself growing more and more intelligent as the pages turn. I also have a strange desire to purchase a Louis Vuitton bag.

Subliminal propaganda at its best.

Saturday at its best.

Collecting freckles at its best.