Orange Hostess Cupcakes by Maureen Locher

Orange Hostess cupcakes, pink polka dot slippers, comfy cotton p.j.’s and cold iced tea. Does life get any better? No more sorting, carrying or cleaning – well, not at my parents’ house anyway. Of course, my sink is positively overflowing with caked on smelly dirty dishes. However, I’ve balanced a big dry erase board across the mess which reads: Hell will freeze over before I wash these dishes! And it will. As God as my witness.

Driving into my driveway a few minutes ago I thought my eyes were deceiving me. No cars. No trucks. No sons’ friends’ vehicles. An empty drive. What bliss! I threw off the work clothes and slipped into the evening’s attire, and it’s only 4:05 in the afternoon. But that’s OK by me, more than OK – a necessary building block for my precariously perched sanity.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, catching however many winks fit into a couple hours. I awoke this morning and left bright and early on mental autopilot all the way to the auction site, as I now think of the farm, my parents’ home. The big difference today was that other people were doing the work. And I liked it! An hour later, one misinformed fellow arrived for the auction. There’s just one little problem: He was 25 hours early – the auction isn’t until tomorrow! And this would-be bidder lived two hours away. Sorry, Mister, come back tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Yikes! It’s so close. Oh my, what a day it will be. But tonight is tonight, and I am alone. Alone to watch a marathon of Gilmore Girl reruns, alone to soak in a hot tub, alone to read my book amid peace and quiet before the noise and nerves of tomorrow. Alone to do whatever my little heart desires. Bring on the cupcakes!