When asked what I wanted for my birthday last year, my answer was hot sex and money. I feel that the universe prefers something a bit more specific, so I decided to put some serious thought into my wish list this year. After all, there are a LOT of candles on that cake.
So, let’s see: Goat yoga. Yes, it is a thing, where baby goats climb on your asanas, although as far as I know, there is actually no goat pose in yoga.
A muffin top cure that does not involve giving up carbs, wine, or binge watching “The Great British Baking Show” or “Swedish Fish.”
A love letter.
A self-cleaning kitchen akin to a self-cleaning oven where you cover it in foam like an Ibiza rage, then come back the next morning to find it sparkling clean.
A slow dance. When I asked an old college boyfriend who was visiting if he was a good dancer, which for me is a definite top qualification in a mate after an unfortunate Arthur Murray incident, he said he was an excellent slow dancer. Super great flashback to “Free Bird” at a dance marathon while rocking a Dorothy Hamill haircut. (And if you don’t remember who that is, you also don’t need to worry about a muffin top cure.)
A sharp knife. A DVD of Harold and Maude.
I would make a wish that my roses would bloom as my garden tends to mirror my inner life.
I wish we lived in a world where Google wasn’t your first source of information, although it seems to have helped men find some important lady parts and instructed them what to do with it. I wish that someone would ask you how you are and actually want the real answer. I wish to join a group of people enjoying a sunset without a single Instagram post.
I wish I had a better short game in golf. I wish I would stop having an urge to hit the gas in my car at people texting while riding bicycles. I digress.
Cakebread Chardonnay, which I actually do have, thanks to my friend who knows it makes me utter strange guttural sounds of pleasure. A truly sexy bra that comes in 34 DD. A do over for . . . Okay scrap that as I only have 500 words here.
A boat ride. A Diane Arbus photograph (cannot believe I sold The Flower Girl). A horseback riding trip to Machu Picchu. Dinner with Aidan Turner (huge “Poldark” fan.) Chris Botti tickets. Rose colored glasses. A guardian angel.
I wish Nancy Atlas would make me another bikini-tini, although sharing a vodka gimlet in a plastic martini glass stitched to a bikini top is best done in a committed relationship.
A well-funded IRA. Bobby Flay. World peace. Alleviation of suffering. And finally, a yurt.
With all those wishes to manifest I’d better take a deep breath and . . . Blow.
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