A best friend forever surprised me with a spontaneous birthday lunch yesterday. No. It wasn’t my birthday, but the bff won’t be here on that day. Sniff.
She called and said, “Can you get away for a late lunch or coffee?”
Oh, boy. Could I ever. See Elen racing through the house scouting clean clothes. If I adhered to the red-beans-and-rice-laundry-Monday tradition, I could have saved myself the frantic hunt. Not to mention that I’d have red beans and rice, which I love — a lot.
It wasn’t until we were seated in a verra fine local bistro with a fat glass of Pinot Grigio that the bff said, “Happy Birthday Lunch!” A gazillion calories later, we stumbled out. Happy — giggle. Sated — hiccup. Thank you, A/e. It was a blast of awesomeness. P.S. — Don’t forget to read a book!
So, I’m just wondering. Birthday fat. It’s like baby fat, right? It magically disappears?
Mr. G, honey is out in the garage replacing one of the innertubes on my five-speed. I’m guessing, not. Hey. Hey. Hey. Subtle, Mr. G, honey, very subtle.
Boy, did I get a lot done this week or what?