A recipe for a perfect evening
I’m cruising down the silent street, savoring the eerie winter darkness. I revel in the long, pitch black evenings when time stretches like an elastic band and night falls hours before one has to contemplate going to bed.
The house is dark as I pull into the driveway. My heart begins to pound with suppressed excitement as I walk into the house. Alone, for the entire evening and late into the night. Sheer bliss…
The thermostat is set to sixty and I leave it be. I won't be moving around much, a cold house will suit me just fine. I head for the bedroom, shrugging off my clothes as I move through the hallway. And all the while I’m running through the options for the evening. So many things I could do, so little time. I can feel myself tensing and stop, taking a deep breath.
Relax, I tell myself, you have all night. In the bedroom, I pull the covers off the bed and prepare it for the night. I like the idea of coming in later, hours later, and finding the bed already turned down, waiting for me; a lover’s embrace, open and ready to welcome me. I laugh softly and pull a pair of my favorite drawstring jammies from the closet. The pants are fluffy and soft, pink with a pattern of black and white sheep. The top is a plain black t-shirt, long-sleeved and stretchy, almost weightless. I pause in front of the mirror, wondering about the bra and panties. After a moment, I remove both and rummage through the drawer to find suitable replacements.
The bra is easy, I pull one out and put it on. A delicate pink confection with a tiny black bow on the front. Seems almost a pity to hide it under a t-shirt, but who's going to see it but me, anyway? Another quick glance in the mirror and I pull the jammies on without panties. The soft cotton blend caresses the skin, who needs anything else in-between?
Glancing at the alarm clock I sigh with disappointment, it's already half past six. I start counting the hours I have left but then shake my head, forcing myself to stop.
Don't, I tell myself, you'll just get fussed and spoil the evening. Relax and enjoy it.
In the kitchen, I dim the harsh lights and put on the kettle. Not the plastic plug-and-play, the real stove top kettle. While it’s sighing on the stove, I open the fridge and listen to its quiet hum, contemplating the contents. I'm not hungry. Maybe I'll make a sandwich later, but right now, I just want something sweet and decadent, something to have with my tea. I rummage around and then remember a still sealed jar of peanut butter in the pantry.
Bingo! I think to myself, delighted. Tonight, I won't think about healthy food choices, empty calories, sugar rush before bed… Tonight, it's all about what I want.
The kettle’s whispers become more insistent and I turn to see a steady column of white steam rising from the open spout. Rooting through the collection of mugs, I'm looking for one to fit my mood.
Too boring, too small, too big, too cheery, I mutter to myself as I go through them. Finally, it's down to two – one, a tall, thin-walled mug with an elegantly curved, delicate handle. The word 'tea' is written in flowing scripts on the outside; at once cool and inviting, the cup is in shades of white and muted green. The other is a medium sized mug with a softly rounded top edge and a fat comfortable handle. Warm ivory walls inside, soft lavender on the outside. A single word written in a curvy script – Flirt. It's less refined than the first, but it's just the cozy cup I want tonight and so I reach for it.
Next is the teapot which I first scold with hot water, holding it gingerly over the sink. I'm always terrified of it bursting and each time I find myself almost wishing that it would, just so that I can get over the fear of anticipating it. But tonight is not the night for it to prove my fears right and soon its glass walls fog up with the warmth of the amber liquid inside.
Now for the peanut butter. A quick rummage through the pantry and I pull out the jar, feeling its warm weight in my hands. In one twist the lid is off and now for my favorite part, pulling off the sealed cover. I puncture it with a knife and pull it off slowly, guiding the knife’s point along the edge to make sure all of the paper comes off. And now I’m looking at the smooth expanse of luscious peanut butter with its predictable swirl in the middle, just a little bit off center. I want to wait until everything is ready but I can't resist it…
Holding the jar with one hand, I let one finger descend inside and violate the pristine surface with a quick swipe. Licking the peanut butter off is an almost sensual experience. Over too soon but I won't do it again, patience has its rewards.
Later, I tell myself firmly, putting the lid back on and screwing it tight for good measure.
Now it's time to assemble the tray. On goes the mug, the jar of peanut butter, a large spoon, the glass teapot and a couple of napkins for the inevitable little messes. I carry the tray into the living room and set it down near the couch. I still have to gather some other things together. Returning to the kitchen I turn the lights off and mute the phone. Whoever wants to reach me tonight is out of luck. A shudder of a thrill runs through me at the thought of disconnecting from everyone and everything and just enjoying myself. As I leave the kitchen I glance at the clock on the microwave, six forty-five.
Not bad, I think to myself and smile.
In the living room I crouch down on the floor in front of my DVD collection. The six disk player is waiting, its jaw extended forward, ready to swallow whatever I choose to feed it. Oh, but what to choose? This is a quiet, peaceful sort of evening – no dramas, just feel-good movies. I run a quick calculation, if I start at seven and each movie is a little under two hours long, I should have time for roughly two and a half, maybe three movies. So, what to choose?
As I'm thinking, I run my fingers absentmindedly along the spines of the DVDs.
No, No, No… Yes!, first selection is made, "Good Advice" can be the one to start with. It's sweet and undemanding and I know most of the dialogue by heart so I don't actually need to watch it, I can just listen to the familiar words wash over me as the corresponding scenes unfold in my mind. Next one is easy, it has to be "Love Actually" – a little sad, a little romantic, I'll watch bits and pieces of this one, but overall, it's another one of those that I can watch almost entirely in my head. Now for the last one. Fingers are skimming the row of DVD spines, tapping impatiently,
No, No, No… Maybe… No, No… I stop for a moment and think about the end of "Love Actually", what would I want to follow that? And then I know exactly what it’ll be. I scan the titles again and pull it out - "Sliding Doors". I'll end the evening with Gwyneth Paltrow, what could be better than that?
The movies in place, I grab the remote controls and head for the couch. My favorite blanket is scrunched up in the corner and I shake it out, laying it gently on the back of the couch and forming an envelope near where my feet will be. The book I am reading and a pile of magazines are on the coffee table and I move them closer to the couch so that once I’m settled in, I won’t have to get up again. Next to them, I set the tray with my evening tea and the remote controls from the TV and the player. Everything is ready.
I dim the harsh overhead light until the room is filled with a soft golden glow, turn on the TV and start the first movie. As the opening credits roll, I pour myself a cup of tea, curl up under the covers, and open the book.
Let the evening begin…
The office is eerily silent. I glance at the clock on my screen. The tiny digits are mocking me, changing with agonizing slowness. Every passing minute lingers, lengthening the wait. It’s too early, you won't be in for at least another hour. 
