Not So Really Real

In the past I sang Swason’s praises for her fierce grasp of reality and her unwavering commitment to telling me the truth, however that woman is a black and white cookie of cerebral dichotomy because she is also the BESTEST pal for engaging in, and collaborating with, my super reality or as some may call it – fantasy world. 

Our adjusted realities stem from the fact that we both still harbor a bit of our 12 year old pink sparkly sticker collecting/ friendship bracelet making girl just under our savvy city lady outer shell (sorry Swason if I am writing out of turn, however I believe you will agree with me here) and when we unite in a dork-fest fueled with wine (or not) we quickly break through our jaded all-knowing logical crust and delight in our combined powers of modified universe creation

Swason is currently indulging my revised reality that I’m only one call away from Lufthansa ‘s reservations desk to becoming a trophy wife of an international banker stationed in Zurich. There I am sipping red wine and feasting on exotic cheeses while peacefully lounging on the deck of my Alpine chalet as I spend my lazy days transferring my harmonica virtuosity for that of the alpenhorn. I won’t share Swason’s ‘reality’ with my readers but suffice to say that not only do I need to purchase a parka for my mountain top hideaway, Swason has informed me to start shopping for cowboy boots because her Texan wedding is gonna ROCK it!