I am house sitting for my mom this week while she’s at a conference at the Arizona Biltmore (no, I do not feel sorry for her. The Biltmore was full, so the poor dear had to stay at the Ritz). My mother is probably the most terrifyingly perfect person in the known world. All of her plates match, she has 20 kinds of vinegar, her nails are never chipped, and no one has ever seen her without mascara at any time after 1972. I can almost guarantee you none of her socks and underwear have holes.
Which is why staying at her house is fun! I get to pretend like I personally have 5 kinds of salt, several bottles of wine, a gigantic shower (amazing water pressure, by the way), and one of those nifty electric kettles, but I don’t actually have to um…go out and get them? The best part of her house though, is this:
There exists, in this house, a tiny dog named Ceili, and she is absurd. She hates everything that isn’t sleeping and/or lying disdainfully on pillows near a fire (aka the only things I want to do). There is also a fireplace. The only thing, actually, that I brought to this, was my new copy of Lucky Peach! Do you read this magazine? It is the best!
So, in an effort to getting my actual life to more fully align with my fantasy life, I spent a full hour talking to The Tiny Dog (no response; has not yet mastered English), reading John Jeremiah Sullivan‘s article about preserved fruit, and pretending I own this fireplace. I’m getting closer.