There’s just something about Sundays that insinuate self-indulgence. Maybe it’s because it’s already been labelled the day of rest, or maybe because we know the cyclical grind begins the morning after. Whatever the reason, yesterday I gave in to the lazy disposition so synonymous with Sundays.
The day was filled with little luxuries: a leisurely stroll through
Kensington, iced-coffee in one hand, my son’s stroller in the other. With my son’s guidance (aka indiscriminately pulling items from their shelves and hangers), window shopping proved fruitful, as both my son and I made out like bandits at countless summer sales. He scored some new tees from
Purr Petite, while I picked up some earrings at
Joints, and a sundress from
Kismet. (I pray Calgary’s recent heat wave will provide atleast a handful more opportunities for me to actually don the pink floral dress.)
All that shopping left us heat-exhausted and in need of a treat, so treat ourselves we did, with a gelato at
Fiasco Gelato. I, a stracciatella, and a banana chocolate scoop for my toddler’s discerning taste buds.
Happy and spent, we retreated to Lake Chaparral for a quick dip and playground jaunt, and dinner al fresco. The
day nearly said and done at 9:00pm, (my worn-out little man asleep in his crib), I settled in for the ultimate Sunday night delight—an hour of
Big Brother. While reality TV pundits generally malign the series, I say there is no truer depiction of human nature on TV today.
Deceit, lies, (sometimes) sex, and embarrassingly dumb challenges, food competitions and gimmicks (i.e. this year’s High School cliques), make for the guiltiest of guilty pleasures. Throw in the most wooden, uncomfortable glitter-wearing host in reality TV today, Julie Chen—aptly nicknamed Chenbot—, and you’ve got an hour of voyeuristic entertainment that can’t be beat. (Go Jeff!)
Throw in an extra scoop of gelato, and its Sunday, blissful Sunday.