few things bring me more joy or make me feel more comforted than a proper dinner in bed. i say “proper” because this isn’t the kind of dinner ordered as takeout, eaten out of boxes. rather, the dinner to which i am referring is a home-cooked one, served on our ceramic dishes, eaten in our laps with cloth napkins and glasses of wine atop bedside tables. basically, all of the components destined for a dinner table, enjoyed in the comfort of bed.
now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a daily occurrence. and for that, i am grateful. these meals are typically reserved as a reward for enduring an exhausting day at work, when all you want to do is jump into sweats/pajamas, turn on Netflix, and – for lack of a better term – stuff your face with something homemade (preferably pasta).
it’s all things comforting, wrapped into a single moment and made all the more special by the mere fact that it deviates from our norm.
it’s the light at the end of the tunnel in an otherwise defeating day, a little treat to remind you that finding joy can be as simple as that. a dinner in bed.