My Cup Runneth Over

"Fill your cup first and allow the world to benefit from your overflow"

I've seen this quote--or variations thereof--many times, and I'll admit that it strikes me as bad hostessing. (And as a Virgo, it gives me shivers it seems so messy.)  But I get what it's saying, and sometimes an empty, crusty, filthy cup requires some radical self-care to rectify.

I'm not fully used to caring for myself.  I mean, yes, I can shower and dress myself (kind of), and keep myself from starving to death, but I've never been a habitual sybarite; luxurious self-indulgence hasn't always been my strong suit.  But sometimes you don't realize just how much you miss being spoiled until, well, until there's nobody spoiling you. A girl might not realize she once was the shimmering center of attention until she finds herself sitting on a folding chair in the corner.  In a gift-giving panic Michael often defaulted to spa gift cards for me on various and sundry holidays, and every single time I came home from a trip I returned to clean sheets, a tidy house, and some hot food.  These small, but lovely, gestures are all up to me now.  So I spent last week refilling my cup.

The night before a work trip I laundered the sheets so they'd be crisp and clean-smelling, and I vacuumed all the trail dust and grime off the floors.  I wiped down the bathroom sink and hung fresh towels.  I ran the dishwasher, and scrubbed the kitchen sink.  The fact that weather grounded my flight simply meant I could revel in a ship-shape house right away.  A mid-week lunch break at the hair salon meant a head massage and at least some taming of this unruly mop, and the following day's pedicure brought foot and calf massages and bright sparkly blue toe nails.  Lest everything in the middle become jealous, the week closed with a lunchtime massage that left me soft and supple as a pat of butter.  Good food, glorious runs, yoga classes, an early night curled up in jammies eating ice cream and laughing on the phone, laying in bed listening to lush overwrought music:  this week was all about being spoiled.

And here is what I learned:  spoiled is spoiled, whether one is cherished and coddled by somebody else or one takes charge herself.  "Princess" is not an elected position, one can simply grab the title and the tiara for herself and entre nous it feels damn good. And while my refusal to brush my hair has already ruined the haircut, my toes look fabulous.