1. Ate seven cartons of Kate Bennis' expensive soup that she left in the writing cottage. Replaced it. And then ate it all again.
2.. Invented a at least 212 reasons to go downtown when I didn't really need to for the sole purpose of buying great big hoggy milky cascades of Mudhouse coffee that I didn't even have the decency to carry away in a reusable vat.
3. Bought a bottle of shampoo. The kind with 43 ingredients printed on the label in a font so tiny that they might as well have been written in Sanskrit. The kind that will burn a hole in the planet down to the magma core if you pour it on the ground and give pebbles cancer. Why? Because I used some just like it in Johanna Lindholm's shower, and I wanted that silky softness to be mine, mine, mine.
4. On multiple occasions, I chose makes and models of bread and other foodstuffs that I knew no one in the family but me would like. Sometimes I barely liked them. But were they there when I was hungry? In all their Pyrrhic glory
5. Purposely positioned the garbage cans in the hopes that used remnants of garbage stickers might be interpreted as whole and virginal and newly boughten.
6. Took full advantage of my five year old's willingness to give long luxurious hair brushings for the price of a dollar which she never remembered to collect.
7. Told myself it was okay to read the part of my 17 year old's facebook page that he left up on my computer as long as I didn't do any scrolling.
8. Was un-neccessarily nasty to a telemarketer. Really. Like I did have a genuine limb of some conifer all up and in there. I think its gone.
9. Failed to anticipate, by say, longer than an hour, every single solitary birthday party, class, event, and appointment in my children's lives. Or in anyone else's.
10. Did a lot of other things, when I should have been...uh...doing other things.
