My most perfect day would be on a brisk December morning, as the new sunlight filtered weakly through storm glass, my bare feet would touch the frigid hard wood floor for a second before finding my fluffy white slippers. I would walk through a long, dark hallway-complete with creepy photographs and a red Oriental hall rug-and a winding wooden staircase before reaching a black-and-white kitchen. In the kitchen, I would prepare myself a delicious hot mug of tea and pop some bread in the toaster. Blackberry preserves, of course, would be quickly retrieved from a state-of-the-art refrigerator.
After enjoying a light morning repast, I would turn on my large stereo. New age music would lilt softly throughout my home. I would open the heavy, velvet curtains in each room, exposing white drapery whispily covering the old-fashioned windows. I would toss a load of laundry in a washing machine before taking a shower.
The maid would be arriving in a few hours to take care of her weekly chores.
While in the shower, I would smell the scent of expensive aromatherapy shampoos. Just as I stepped out of the hot water, a warm terry cloth robe would hug me gently. Deciding to have a second cup of tea, I would greet my sleepy husband by the imposing hall bookshelf. We would kiss quickly as we passed on another.
For about an hour, I would commune with my hot tea ( still donning my robe) while seated in a comfy chair in the front parlor. Perhaps I would read a novel. Perhaps I would write in my diary or just meditate and pet my cat. Later, glancing at the antique grandfather clock, I would walk with energy back to my bedroom. There, I would brush my long hair before slipping into a...