In honor of this writer’s upcoming MWO (Mama’s Weekend Out) at a spa in a tiny dry patch of non-descript California where she will experience mud, warm, constant bubbles and pools filled with bodies floating privately on provided rafts (the kind with headrests)—in honor of dinners out involving sushi and ye olde prix fixe (her last PF delivered by a vaguely upscale restaurant in a very non-upscale styrofoam container on that first anniversary with a babe in her arms—an extremely sleepless babe)—in honor of toasts to come and war stories to be shared and pedicures to be had (had maybe 3 in her entire life) and chocolate to be devoured—take this:

“I am a completely horizontal author. I can’t think unless I’m lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I’ve got to be puffing and sipping. As the afternoon wears on, I shift from coffee to mint tea to sherry to martinis.”

—Truman Capote

Horizontal—ahhhhhhhh…