MARCY MARKUSA SHARES HOW SHE'D SPEND THE PERFECT SATURDAY IN WINNIPEG. IF ONLY EVERY SATURDAY WAS LIKE THIS.

It begins with sleeping in. At 8 a.m. I open the curtains and gaze onto a fall day. Then my husband, Jean-Paul, and our little dog, A-Rod, suit up and pile into the car. We stop at Cafe Köhler & Bakery and get danishes; they’re as big as my head and filled with berries and thick cheese. They’re calorie-free, so I eat three (this is my “dream,” right?). OK, they aren’t calorie-free. I still eat three of them. And although I loathe admitting it, we go to Starbucks — I’m addicted to the latte.

Then we head to the dog park at Kilcona Park. It’s a huge area of paths, trees, water and tall grass that A-Rod gets lost in.

In my pocket I find $100 and my husband says, “Let’s buy you a new purse!” We drive to a shop on Waverley called Gilded Lily’s and I buy two bags by Matt & Nat, a company from Montreal.

Then we’re off to The Shoe Doctor in Wolseley to buy me hot pink leather boots. We go to Palliser Furniture and buy a chocolate brown microfibre sofa to replace the one A-Rod ate. We hit the Exchange and buy a chunky, dark-wood farm table and some mismatched chairs. Then it’s on to Western Paint on Hargrave, because JP’s in the mood to paint our bedroom! What a guy! He gets Benjamin Moore — Smoked Oyster — goes home and starts painting.

I’m alone now, going to garage sales off Corydon and garden centres on Winnipeg’s periphery. Lower Fort Garry Garden Centre, near St. Andrews, has a teahouse where I have a late lunch with my friend Tricia.

Heading home, I hear that Bon Jovi’s playing a gig at the MTS Centre and needs a seat filler in row seven on the floor. I get the job and get asked to sing backup during “Living on a Prayer.” Oh Jon-Bon, if I must. Did I mention Cirque du Soleil opened for them? My cultured side needs an arts fix, too.

When I get home, JP’s finished painting and my mother-in-law has refinished our stairs! Outside, JP’s set up an elaborate party for our friends and family. I have time to get my hands in the soil and plant my new flowers before they come. I also make a torte for the party; I’m a homebody at heart.

The day ends with the party. It’s stress-free, of course, and decorated with deals from Gale’s Wholesale on King Edward. Lanterns hang across our yard and tables full of food fill the perimeter.

My auntie Kay’s buckwheat holopchi, my mom’s dill bread and my father-in-law’s French crêpes are the late-night snack. It’s a mixed bag of favourites, so Massawa on Osborne brings loads of Ethiopian food, and we’re sitting cross-legged in the grass, eating with our hands.

JP went to a wine store — Banville & Jones or Kenaston Wine Market — and selected reds from all over the world, plus an ice-wine we tried at the Winnipeg Wine Festival last year. He also hired a sommelier for the party.

My niece, Katherine, and her brothers, Nicholas and Matthew, smash a piñata in the corner and dog treats fall out; A-Rod’s thrilled.

As the sun goes down, there is dancing, laughing and shouting. My quiet personality goes down with the sun and I party into the night. Tom Jones fires up the karaoke machine — we’re teaching him “Sex Bomb” in Ukrainian. Glorious.