A colleague asked me on my way out of the office last night, “Are you going to this birthday party thing?”
Despite my affinity for the birthday boy, I didn’t have the juice, the enthusiasm, or the stomach, for a night of drinking. From the moment I woke up, checked into work, and took a spin around Central Park, I knew full well that my Thursday was going to be nothing special. It was all about comfort.
For me, comfort is a fist full pretzals, a frozen pizza, a cold beer, and a bowl of Breyers All Natural Vanilla ice cream. That’s it. Pretty, um, vanilla, huh?
And that was it really. Nothing was on tv. Netflix let me down. So I caught up on some Network of Fun, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. A warm breeze was blowing through the open windows. Rain began to fall. I climbed beneath my gray flannel sheets, and called it a day. Comfortably numb.