Whipped cream in my coffee

It’s my birthday. I’ve had a LOT of them so it’s sorta not a big thing. Um, well, maybe it is.


I’m not a spring chicken anymore.

Getting out of bed counts as being on my bucket list.

The longer this thing called life goes on, the more hedonistic and decadent I become.


Irish-Coffee-croppedI put whipped cream in my coffee this morning. And since it’s my B-day, I just might get really frisky and do it again with the second cuppa.

Firstborn will take me out to dinner. Herself is snoozing on the couch nearby, keeping me company in her own special way. The budgies are chittering and cooing.

It’s sleet/rain/snowing.

But it’s a good day because wonderful folks sent hugs and well-wishes. Even Google did a logo special for me (that’s my story, Ima sticking to it).


And I got out of bed…

Keeping it real in the country.



About Nya Rawlyns

Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
This entry was posted in Whipped cream in my coffee and tagged decadence, hedonism, small victories. Bookmark the permalink.

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