I will follow ... where you lead

I’m 30 years old (ummm…give or take and mainly give), I’ve lived in a multicultural Canadian urban metropolis for most of my life and more than anything I would like to live in a small town in New England. There. It would kill me, no doubt, and I am absolutely unprepared for it. The antiques, the baking. At least I’ve got the maple syrup part down. Its no use hiding it, I must confess that I am utterly addicted to the Gilmore Girls and from this addiction stems my newfound desire to live in a wood-frame house complete with wraparound porch and gabled windows. Although having abated somewhat in the topsy-turvy fall, my latent small-town-Americana (but not that kind of Americana, the other kind, the Martha kind, the TV kind) tendencies have reawakened with the ringing of sleigh bells poorly disguised as grocery store muzak. Are you listening? I want to walk in a winter wonderland in Stars Hollow! I want to spend some of my days in a fully-equipped-state-of-the-art-make-Williams-Sonoma-weep-with-envy kitchen and the other days walking around town in stilettos and tight sweaters, my lipstick crimson, my hair shiny, the snow falling yet melting miraculously in the path of my Manolos! Yes! Me, too much reading too much thinking yoga bending deep breathing hippie tea drinking me. The watcher in me chuckles. The reality would be different no doubt. I have bunions so the Manolos are out. I eat off any lipstick I put on within minutes. Tight sweaters … yeah, I could pull those off. Ditto the cooking. The cooking and endless tasting would, of course, make me fat. And even my fantasy comes full circle, with me monitoring what I put in my mouth as I fall on and off the wagon in a never-ending ballet of food management…