It’s Saturday morning and I’m snuggled deep into the comforters, my great grandmother’s quilt on top keeping the heat in. My head is sunk into the soft pillows and with one arm outside the blankets I can feel the cold that seeps through the glass of the closed window.
It’s 9:30 a.m.
I wake up just enough to realize it’s Saturday, roll over and snuggle back down, noting that the sun hasn’t quite penetrated the blinds yet.
An hour later I wake up again, sit up in bed and grab my phone to browse news stories on Pulse. My boyfriend is sitting up, pillows piled behind his head, doing the same thing on Reddit. I ask if he wants to watch “Bones” since we were too tired last night to watch an episode.
We grab my softest throw blanket — warm chocolate brown Christmas present- and head down the stairs. Two bowls of Rice Chex on the table and we’re on Instant Netflix, cuddled back into the couch.
It’s a rare weekend day with nothing on the agenda. I’m relishing the feeling, knowing I have things to do, but I can choose not to do them.
This is the best kind of Saturday.