And whose rules are they, anyway?

Fired up by my own rant, I toss the crumpled paper towel and grab a notebook and pen to start a list of all the things I want to do in the next few years.

Sitting on the couch, I scribble down my ideas in no particular order:

Go to Argentina.

Learn to tango.

Belly-dance.

Take a wine-tasting class.

Climb Mt. Rainier.

I go back, cross out “Climb” Mt. Rainier for “Visit” Mt. Rainier “Park.”

I consider the list for a few minutes, tap the pen against my teeth, and then pick up where I left off:

Visit Mt. Rainier Park.

Sail the Greek islands.

Go to the Cannes Film Festival.

Get invited to Bill Gates’s house.

Get some muscle definition in my arms.

Get a tummy tuck.

Take the kids on a cruise.

Get my second house in Northwest Homes.

Get my first house in AD.

Design my first restaurant interior.

Adopt a baby.

I go back again, scratch off that last one. I don’t need another baby. I just need to laugh and play more with the two I’ve got.

A week later, I take out my list and make the leap. I’m going to Argentina for Christmas. Daniel gets the kids this year, and I’ll die if I have to be in my house alone, without them for the holidays. Going to a friend’s house won’t help, either. I don’t want to be around children if I can’t be with mine.

I call my travel agent, the one who booked Anne and me into the Halekulani that first Hawaii visit of mine, and tell her I want to go to Buenos Aires for Christmas. I’ve got ten days, and I want to see as much of Argentina as I can. She promises to get back to me with prices soon.

In the meantime, I sign up for tango lessons. If I’m going to go to Argentina in ten weeks, I might as well start learning about their culture. From now until my trip, I’m going to drink only Argentinean wine and read books by Argentinean authors.

Not that I know any Argentinean authors. But I can learn, right?

Halloween is still weeks away, but Jessica must be putting on her costume at least three times a day. I’ve already had to mend it, and it’s one of those supercheap silky princess costumes that still manages to cost a fortune. Tonight is my first tango lesson, and I’m nervous.

This is so silly, I think as I finish dressing. I’m going to make so many mistakes, and so many things could go wrong.

What if I’m the only one there on my own?

What if no one wants to partner with me?

What if I have no rhythm and three left feet?