Perhaps not a bad weekend.

Dinner in a place we remembered we liked and getting to a movie on time a movie that was perfectly entertaining against all rumor, topped with late-night sundaes and sleeping in and brunching languidly in spite of promises to exercise early and brunch later.

Then the party, which could have been imprisoning but instead was inclusive and enjoyable. Four cosmos and a mix of jello shots and wine helps.

And today, a massage and pedicure and hours with friends catching up and warm rays. Good food, fleeting salacity.

I love how massages make you feel sexy. A competition between muscles; the relief of your body risen from the softness by the sculptor—He draws you for you sparing no cleft nor sinew, and you realize how muscular you are, how deeply buried the cords of your suspension.