Scrolling through my Spotify playlists to find that song.
That song that makes me feel so good.
So good that when I walk along Queen Street with the sun shining and my fake Raybans on, I feel unstoppable.
There, found it. Press play.
Now I am beautiful.
I am emotionally, physically and spiritually healthy.
The kind of woman who drinks Matcha tea, organic wine and eats only eggs from the really happy hens, not the sad ones in cages.
Effortlessly chic.
I am fulfilled.
I use crystal rituals in my weekend self-care routines.
I am in a relationship that is both deep and nourishing, yet light and joyful.
Let me play this song again, just one more time.
I don’t want to let go of this version of myself quite yet.
I love her.
I looooove her.
Okay, it’s on repeat. All is good. I’m still her.
I smile at strangers walking past me, admire Halloween decorations and wave at a little toddler wearing sparkly shoes.
Being her means my roots are always touched up, never grey.
I practice yoga and tantric sex, giving my complexion that gorgeous, glow-y from within look.
I don’t just live, I thrive.
Oh no, someone is calling me, interrupting my time with her.
It’s my husband.
I answer.
“Can you pick up some snacks, you know like chips and stuff? The guys are coming over tonight to watch the game.”
“Sure, no problem,” I say lightly trying not to lose her.
I pop into our local grocer, waving at the checkout guy.
I’m still her, for a little longer.
I grab chips and pretzels and all the usual crap that my husband likes eating while watching sports.
Then I grab myself a bouquet of mixed fall flowers, that’s what she would do.
She would buy herself flowers every week, never leaving them to die and rot in the vase.
I spot a container of overpriced pre-cut fruit pieces – her favorite.
I replay the song again.
I feel so good being her.
She loves dark chocolate with sea salt, so I toss a couple of bars into my basket.
In the refrigerator, next to the Kombucha, is a new drink I’ve never seen before.
It’s called Goddess Juice, a turmeric based elixir that you take as a daily shot for:
“Enhancing your inner functioning, wellbeing and spirit,” the label says.
Oh this is exactly what she would like, she would totally buy this.
I pause my music so I can chat with the checkout guy.
“You watching the game tonight? I’ve got a good feeling about this one, I think the Leafs are gonna win.”
“My husband is. He just bought himself a special beer fridge for the new season.”
“Sweet.”
I pay, then continue walking home.
I’m now balancing two paper bags plus my purse, it’s too much and I’ve got several blocks to go.
Even though I’m still playing the song I feel her disappearing.
“Why can’t he buy his own snacks? What am I, his mother?”
As the irritation grows I feel her slipping further and further away. She’s wearing oatmeal-colored cashmere loungewear and she doesn’t like my energy right now.
I walk the final block to our tiny row house; I’m sweating. It’s fall but somehow I’m sweating.
I turn the key and my husband meets me at the door:
“Thanks babe, you’re fucking amazing,” he says as he takes the two bags and kisses my forehead.
He’s talking to me about I don’t know what, not even noticing the Goddess Juice, which is something he would usually make fun of. I hide the juice at the bottom of the fridge and fill a vase with water.
“I have a good feeling about the Leafs tonight, I think they’re gonna win,” I say while arranging my flowers.
“Ah babe, that’s what I like to hear. Go Leafs!” he yells, emptying bags of chips into bowls.
I pour myself a glass of red wine and take a sip, followed by a bite of dark chocolate with sea salt – it’s exactly what she would do. And My God it’s delicious.
sparkledame 