This kind of day needs bottled

Slept in until 10:45. Made vanilla bean coffee, read most of The Kansas City Star. Showered. Put on new bathing suit. Admired my body; did not berate one bit the cellulite/thigh jiggle. Taste tested the chicken salad I'd made the night before. Enjoyed 60-second fantasy that I have my own cooking show. Opened garage door and there was my next-door neighbor, wheeling her cooler up the driveway. "I put some sodas in here," she said. "Oh, and some of those raspberry cooler things you like." Drove to Candy's house, stuck the chicken salad in her fridge and immediately got into the pool. Stayed in pool for the next five hours. Drank numerous sodas, ate numerous potato chips, enjoyed my chicken salad, Sheila's pasta salad and Nancy's brownies. (Before baking she places butter pats on top/sprinkles with brown sugar. Stupidly simple. Seriously divine.) Got home around five. Elizabeth had cleaned the house! Major surprise. I thanked her for cleaning the house; kissed her on top of her head, old-school, like she was seven years old again. She smelled of expensive hair product. "Hey!" I said, somewhat breathlessly. "Let's go see that Kit Kittredge, American Girl movie." A quick shrug from Daughter. I had expected some whining. Something along the lines of, Aren't I Too Old To See That? No whining at all. Major surprise. Before getting to the theater, we stopped at Wendy's. Ordered some cheeseburgers. "We'll eat at the show," I told her. "Here, put these in your bag." At the ticket counter, we got a soda. The movie was cute. I laughed out loud several times, which was OK because we were the only people there. I caught Elizabeth on three separate occasions thoroughly enjoying Kit's escapades, although afterward she told me the show wasn't "great by any means" and she "definitely wouldn't have to see it again." Stopped at Walgreen's to buy quality tweezers and pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Ran into one of Elizabeth's old friends, a sweet girl I considered a third daughter. Hadn't seen her since the girls were in eighth grade. Immediately I hugged her. "I am SO going to make you one of my famous PMS cakes," I told her. "Are you going to be home tomorrow? I'll be there at noon ... ."
Hugged again. Purchased quality tweezers/ice cream and then took Elizabeth home. Ryan (20-year-old son) hopped into my car. "Taco Bell, Mom?" From nowhere, he informed me the grocery store where he works had been robbed that day. Robbed?! What?!?! "Well," he explained, sensing my obvious anxiety, "really it was a kid trying to steal some Jack Daniels. It wasn't like he had a gun or anything." Oh. Thank God. ... At the drive-thru, Ryan ordered an obscene amount of food ... where does this slim young man put five burritos and two tacos? ... While he chowed in the Pontiac, I went into the grocery to buy cocoa and powdered sugar for tomorrow's cake. Again imagined having my own cooking show. Got stuck with creepy bagger man at the register, but other than that, this day was nearly perfect.
What blessings have been bestowed upon my head!!