Last night I had this amazing dream. I woke up wearing an elegant silk nightgown with a train that swept the hardwoods as I walked down the hall. (thank god, no swiffering later for me) There was a full pot of coffee in the Cuisinart, and there, just off the deck, was a brand new room with a sign on the door. The sign read T.C.'s Office. As I got closer to the door, I noticed the flip sign on the handle that read, DO NOT ENTER. And then it got even better. There, at exactly five feet two inches from the floor was a retina scanner. There was no doubt that it had been made for me. I wanted to run to my husband and thank him. It was just like him to be so amazing. But I knew he'd want me to savor the moment, so I stepped up to the threshold and allowed the tiny beam to read my retina. The door opened slowly, and a piano concerto began to play softly from the other side of the room, and I nearly looked around for Debussy as I closed the door behind me. This is what I saw.
I felt like this was it. It was everything I could have ever imagined an office to look like. My story could get finished now. Really finished. I'd have privacy and a lovely space to work in.
But then I woke up. And I walked down the hall in my Old Navy jammies (guess I have to swiffer now. I'm not bitter, swear) and that's when I saw it. My real office. The one I get to muse in everyday because the teenagers took over the den where my office used to be. (okay maybe I'm a little bitter) This is now my office.
Well, maybe for some. I found this in my office this morning.
Hello Cooper. Must be a faulty retina thingy.
But he was kind enough to give me this when I asked him to vacate my office.