This past weekend was the kind of weekend I dream about. It was as close to perfect as a weekend involving a hangover could get.
On Friday I spent the afternoon working outside on our patio. I put a sign up on my door pointing folks to where they could find me and parked it. It was breezy, shady, and the perfect temperature.
Late Friday afternoon, I spent the happiest hours at the bar in a nearby restaurant drinking wine and flirting with the cute bartender before a delicious dinner with some of my favorite friends/colleagues/posse.
Lots of wine on the table. Lots of empty wine glasses on the table. Home before 11pm and somehow still managed a full-fledged hangover Saturday.
I powered through, won my mixed doubles tennis match in 2 sets, and headed up to the lake to see my family for Father's Day. I think the last time we spent a Father's Day on the lake was when I was in high school. To say my dad was excited might be an understatement.
Sunday I came home early (but not before daddy opened his present - a new business school tshirt!) to play another tennis match. Kicked butt on the court for the second time this weekend and raced home to meet my friend for lunch. We went back to the restaurant where the cute bartender works and enjoyed a delightful afternoon on a patio in Midtown. I also learned plenty about him. There may not be relationship potential but he's a pretty fun Mr. Right Now (if Mr. Right Now means I make every effort to walk by the restaurant as many times a day as possible without being weird and hoping he sees me).
We got manicures and pedicures, laughed until our sides hurt, and then I came home and ate vegetables for dinner before settling into bed, texting ET about how great my weekend was, and crashing until I opened my eyes on Monday morning. Perfect, perfect, perfect in every single way.