inarticulate sparkle.

The older I get, the less interested I am in trying new things.

I don’t want a new restaurant. I don’t want a six-season TV series everyone insists I have to watch. I don’t want to leave my house after 7 p.m.

I want Panda Express. Honey sesame chicken, fried rice and a root beer.

I want to put on an oversized T-shirt and boxers. No socks, but only if the floor is clean.

I want to watch either The Other Woman or Pretty Woman for the seven hundredth time because, quite frankly, I’ve been through enough.

No, I don’t want to put pants on that don’t have a stretchy waistband, and shoes that actually tie, and i don’t want to brush my hair or put on mascara and see strangers. I want to get a 12 pack of hard lemonade, sit on my couch in my pj’s and forget what my voice sounds like.

I want a handsome, strong, hairy man sitting beside me, opening my cans when needed, and passing the popcorn. I want my dumbass dog laying on my lap with his favorite ball, and the kids are in bed, so the ball is definitely not squeaky.

Brownies are in the oven, the tower fan in the living room is blasting me with cold air, so I can comfortably cover myself in my favorite plush blanket. I know every line of either movie, but i still giggle at my favorite parts. No Facebook friends are in my ear, suggesting another Yellowstone spinoff series.

The a/c is working properly, the fridge isn’t making too much noise, the laundry is done, folded, put away for once. I can’t hear my neighbors through my wall arguing about who cheated on whom. I don’t want to go out, because all of that is my happy place.

✨ Spark Note:

Maybe we’ve had enough adventure for one lifetime. Maybe happiness is just a quiet house, a good movie, stretchy pants, and someone else opening the root beer.