I have been watching the Olympic trials, a lot. I'm always amazed at these athletes and their non-human work out ethics and let's be honest, their bodies. As I'm laying on my favorite sofa with my current US Magazine and snacks and feet propped up, I began to ponder what perfection really is, at least in my opinion.
Perfect is a chilled tumbler, holding chewy ice, a freshly cut lemon wedge, pouring icy Diet Coke down over it all. It should be blessed and served at sacrament meetings in tiny cups.
Perfect is white white white clean sheets.
Perfect is Tim agreeing to see a chick movie with a lot of rain and crying in it, and finding a seat in the middle of the theatre with no one in front of me.
Perfect is new towels, made of Egyptian cotton.
Perfect is a sleeping cat or baby.
Perfect is Hello Kitty.
Perfect is laying on my bed with HGTV on in the background, 2 pillows propped, reading a book, and Fatness at my feet.
Perfect is Turtles. The blend of pecans, caramel and chocolate is holier than the Godhead.
Perfect is hydrangeas. Purple-blue.