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valentines day

Valentine’s Day and Snoring in a Public Place

Last night I went to bed at 10pm and was sound asleep just moments later. At 11pm Mr. G called me from the airport. He was on one of the last flights back from New York City before a(nother) blizzard. I might have cursed at him. I might have panicked about a lack of sleep. I might have been a terrible wife… or I might not have (though probably I did).

I woke up at 3am, took a fast shower and hopped in a waiting Towncar to go to Fox News’ LA Bureau so I could talk about Valentines Day. Apparently there is a subset of America who believes that we’re coddling children by asking that five year olds bring Valentines Day cards for the whole class or for none at all. I found this segment to be baffling and I wasn’t sure what point Elizabeth was trying to make.

I was back in bed by 5 and then up again at 7 to get Alexander off to school. I slept like a baby last night, in fits and spurts.

I knew that this is how it would be when Fox called and I know that part of being on TV at 4am is scheduling a nap midday so it’s not like my day is ruined. My day is just altered.

Earlier this week I went and tried one of those kooky foot massage places. I’ve never been to one before but a friend mentioned one in town and said it was like $35 for an hour and it was terrific. She also said it was clean. I won’t go to a salon for a mani-pedi because I’m convinced I’ll die from some esoteric foot fungus I get there. I am not the ideal candidate for discount massages.

Except this was good. So good.

First off you’re led into a room with about a half dozen recliner chairs. The room is dark and there are men and women laying on the chairs, men with their shirts off (these masseuses don’t make nearly enough money) and everyone with their pants rolled up. Your feet are soaked in warm to hot water while your shoulders are rubbed and then your feet are dried off, the chair goes back and the massage begins.

I don’t know how the massage goes because I promptly feel asleep and woke only a few times to the sound of my own snoring. The lady who rubbed my feet giggled and said something about, “You sleep.” In a heavy accent, Vietnamese maybe? I didn’t care. My $35 plus tip earned me the right to snore like a lumberjack’s saw.

I’m headed back this afternoon for more foot rubbing and napping so that I can somehow get through this day. It’s a $45 nap in total and if I can get some quick deep sleep I stand a decent chance of being not-a-monster to my family tonight and Mr. G might actually be happy that he’s home. Again.