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It must have been all that disciplined studying and sitting in front of books, but today I wanted all things bad..things you shouldn’t even speak of in polite company. I said to the women at work, “I feel like shopping at the mall.” They looked at me in confusion. Then I confessed I’d never been to that mall mecca of baked goods, Cinnabon. And they urged me not to go, that it was a slippery slope. But I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I was out of the office, my car seemed to drive itself with me in it to our downtown plaza, where I was tempted by essential oil shower gels, expensive bras & underwear, and my very first frosted Cinnabon. And the evening was lacey and delicious and wonderfully decadent…and completely regenerative. The artist child clapped with glee at each new scent and pretty fabric, and even laughed when I discovered I’d lost the parking garage ticket and would have to pay the lost ticket price of $9, instead of the dollar I really owed.

Now in the continued spirit of this frivolous, restorative evening, I’ve got my glass of cheap red wine and small bowl of chili cheese fritos and am settling in to watch an overdramatic, inaccurate, television show claiming to tell the story of Mary, Queen of Scots. The artist child is shamefully addicted to it; I’m just keeping her company.

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