Yesterday F. and I were sitting in a slightly goofy restaurant in Fairfax, where we were very pleased to be looking out at sunshine and about to partake in homemade pasta. F. was particularly overjoyed that the waiters lugged around an enormous wheel of parmesan cheese from which they carved off individual chunks for every diner.
"I think we enjoy our lives more than we would if we were really rich," he said. I thought it over and agreed that this was probably true. We listed several things that fill us with delight which we might regard with indifference or disdain if we could afford fanciness at all times.
This morning, though, I woke from a dream in which F. told me that he'd been given a raise at work and would now be making $200,000 annually. In the dream, we did not seem concerned that this would make us jaded. Indeed, I believe we may have actually shed tears of joy.
I am secretly shallow, as it turns out.