the perfect hangover cure

I missed the best thing that happened last night, because Julia had woken up crying as we crashed in from dinner and I was in the girls’ bedroom comforting her. What happened was that when Claire saw Big she whispered to Jeremy:

“Is that Uncle Bigman?”

…and when he nodded, she took a running leap into Big’s arms. Big was apparently very pleased about it.

We had dinner at Blue Plate – my appetizer was the highlight, duck meatballs with green figs and proscuitto, rich and sweet. Between the four of us (Big, Rach M., Jeremy and me) we put away two bottles of decent zin and a round of dessert wines as well. We caught up on all possible gossip and laughed a lot. Big and I had both quite unwittingly dyed our hair more or less the same shade of blue.

I went to bed drunk and had feverish dreams. Water was pouring through the cracks in the plaster ceiling and there weren’t enough buckets to catch it all. I went out into the street and found myself in a street full of brownstones in Brooklyn, calling desperately to Jeremy:

“I’m dreaming and I can’t wake up. You have to wake me up.”

I woke up and lay on the couch for a while, then went to bed with a big glass of water. Bebe knocked it onto the floor at dawn, and that was the end of a cursory night’s sleep for me. So I pulled on the running shoes and headed up the hill, because I have become that insufferable thirtysomething bitch for whom 5k with the iPod cranked is the perfect hangover cure.

Long, interesting brunch at Dog, successful piano lesson, then off in frocks to Renaissance Faire where we watched real jousting with real horses! A Belgian Draft and a Clydesdale and a massive jet-black Percheron, the joy of the world! And parrots and a dog pulling a cart and Milo, Jules and Claire chasing each other round and round on the green grass in the sun, squealing with delight! My face still aches from all the grinning.

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