Weekend highlight: My new pillow. For years now I've been vaguely intending to stop breathing PVC fumes all night, but getting a pillow that doesn't give you cancer is surprisingly cost-prohibitive. However, I finally sucked it up and bought myself a shiny new 100% wool pillow from the Pretentious Bedding Store. SO worth it. Good lord. It's like sleeping on a cloud! Richard steadfastly maintains that I'm only enamored because my last pillow was so awful, but I can shut down that conversation as quickly as it begins by demanding how he could possibly know what my pillow feels like and then pointing my finger and yelling "BED HOG!"
Weekend lowlight: Getting shit on by a bird at Opal Divine's tonight. That's actually never happened to me before, so I must confess to being ever so slightly relieved. I'd built up an irrational fear of my initiation into the world of bird droppings... I wasn't sure whether it would involve a job interview, a fancy dress, or having my face be the the bulls-eye, but with every passing day in which I did not get shit on, I became ever more convinced that it would be one of those three. However, I emerged relatively unscathed. Actually, I'm most cranky about the facts that 1.) I'd already washed my hair today, and 2.) according to the exhaustive Internet search I conducted this evening, my long-held belief that being shit on by a bird is good luck (see Starring Sally J. Freedman As Herself) appears to have no basis in actual legitimate superstition. Thanks a lot, Judy Blume.