Guilty Pleasure

I used to feel guilty when I was doing absolutely nothing. Really. How do you justify being idle when there’s things to do? Past tense. I no longer feel the tug of guilt when I’m relaxing. Not even an iota.

So today I lounged around. Rudy golfed. It was a perfect summer day with blazing temperatures and full on sun. And I took full advantage. Sunning and reading and daydreaming. It was really nice. Molly had a peaceful snooze 🛏 in the AC.

When a patch of angry clouds rolled in and threatened rain I took my private party indoors. Straight to the bath tub. Bubbles. Magazines. Bliss.

That’s where Rudy discovered me on his return from golf. He gets it. I’m retired. He said hello and then took Molly for her afternoon 318. He also found our dinner (beer can chicken) in the fridge and started dinner. I took my time getting out of the tub. And when I did I was pleasantly surprised to find the aforementioned activities in full swing. The wine was poured. Add music and some sides. Voila. Retirement gourmet dining.

Traded a few dinner/drink pics with our friends doing a similar event at their place. We kid each other about matching beer glasses and Rudy hiding behind the bottle of wine.

What brings the reality home is Brian’s comment when I send a pic of Rudy having his (illegal) post dinner stogie: I’m jealous. Brian does indulge in cigars on a work night. Neither does Rudy! Good thing he’s retired. Guilty pleasure. Nope. Not anymore.

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