My skin smiles as I wallow in the luxury of my new Egyptian cotton, ridiculous thread-count bed linens, surrounded by a collection of fluffy and colorfully-bound clouds. I’ve never owned pink sheets before. My ex absolutely forbade the color that so threatened the masculinity he imagined he had. And I was a sponge. During the course of our marriage, I’d grown to cringe at the thought of it as well.
But in my journey along this path of independence, I’ve discovered there are many things my love for whom I’d suppressed in deference to his ‘manliness.’ The sparkle of my Waterford glasses — the ones who replaced his collection of 7-11, McDonald’s and NASCAR plastic drink cups — is blindingly brilliant as the light of the morning sun dances through them. I love the depth of my dining table’s patina and the feel as I run my hand over her surface, no longer marred by the pinholes she endured as he built his model airplanes on her back. The French frolickers again dance through the garden on a tapestry I’d rescued from a Goodwill shop; I smile as I remember how my mother rediscovered her shoved into a corner of my closet — because he didn’t like Frenchmen — and had her framed for my living room just to spite him. And now my pretty pink sheets.
I’ve concluded that, unlike greed, selfishness is good.
As much as I look forward to once again sharing my journey with a man I love, I revel in my solitude. I’m fascinated as I relax in the corner of a quiet cafe watching the other customers and spinning tales around their comings, goings, glances, scowls and smiles. I’m empowered when I make my own decisions with, as my primary consideration, what’s in it pour moi. I salivate over the pleasure of my own company.
Me, me, me! For the first time in my life, it’s all about me!
And I’m loving this…