Our Afternoon

Ah, yes. My husband just emerged from working out in the garage singing "I'm a steel cowboy...". For those of you not acquainted with Bon Jovi who, for me, is sort of like white bread, those lyrics are a bastardization of his song 'Wanted Dead or Alive'. "I don't know how that man has a career", he continues with a snarled lip and stiff back.

I hightail it into the office as we've been in the Bon Jovi zone many times before and I knew this tirade wasn't about to end any time soon. I am not alone. I am fervently clutching in my right hand a torn piece of a Diet Coke box containing a code worth 10 My Coke Rewards points. My eyes are bulging. My tongue is flicking like a snake. I've been waiting for the Heather equivalent of a year, a week, for the final 9 points required to net me a subscription to Country Home—my latest obsession.



Along with other fans of the time-worn paint trick, I too will be living it up in "unfussy elegance" in 4-6 weeks. I'm giddy with anticipation. I'm smiling like The Grinch before the Yahooo Doooreeesss scene. I want it so bad I can taste it.