The best part of my day was the part where Dick Whitman and I were walking to brunch and he told me that on Saturday he popped in on his mom and she said, "Have you read Bye Bye Pie yet!?!?"
"….Um. No. Not today," he said.
Dick Whitman's mom was all up in the Daniel-Boone-being-mean-to-me story. So that is how Dick Whitman heard about it. I love that his mom is one of us now. Just reading this blog. Maybe she'll be Comment of the Week someday.
And what kind of nerve does Dick Whitman have, thinking he can GET UP and GO ON WITH HIS DAY without checking my blog first? Whatever, Dick W. Thank goodness his mom is a faithful reader.
Anyway. We walked over to the fancy hotel and sat outside, and everyone was lovely and kind of dressed up, because it's the South and everyone had been at church except our heathen selves. Here is Dick W.'s healthy brunch choice:
After we ate all the beige food, we went to see the Woody Allen movie, which by the way was excellent. I want to live in Paris and I want to live in Paris in 1920. Could someone arrange that? And I realize that by wanting those things I missed the whole point of the movie, but who cares. If I could hang with Scott and Zelda I'd never be sad again.
When we were at the movies, Dick Whitman got one of those packets of peanut M&Ms. Not the box, even, just the bag. When the movie was over? He said, "You want the rest of these? Otherwise I'm throwing them out."
Who doesn't eat the whole bag of M&Ms? And I know technically there should be an apostrophe before the s but I can't bring myself to do it. Stay on topic, will ya? Naturally I rescued the bag. That's just candy abuse.
After I saw Dick W off, I headed to my friend Kaye's house, as she and my friend Marty were having me over for dinner, not that they're cannibals. Do I say that every time someone has me over for dinner? Are you completely tired of me?
The thing is? In the past I've always gone to Marty Martin's, and by the way, didn't I have some stupid long-damn-ass name for Marty Martin? Let me go find it…
Do you have any idea how long that took to find? Okay, so the thing is? In the past I've always gone to my-friend-and-somewhat-Faithful-Reader-except-he-hasn't-read-my-blog-since-he-started-his-new-job-and-I-don't-see-where-that's-an-excuse-because-Terraplane-reads-and-comments-from-HIS-new-job-and-OMG-I-am-so-using-this-entire-intro-every-time-I-say-his-name-which-is-Marty-Martin's house when I get together with those two.
But THIS time, I was to be at Kaye's house, and I know you are SO glad I didn't say my-friend-and-somewhat-Faithful-Reader-except-he-hasn't-read-my-blog-since-he-started-his-new-job-and-I-don't-see-where-that's-an-excuse-because-Terraplane-reads-and-comments-from-HIS-new-job-and-OMG-I-am-so-using-this-entire-intro-every-time-I-say-his-name-which-is-Marty-Martin again.
Well. My GPS? Took me to Kaye's street, but THERE WAS A LOCKED GATE THERE. And I drove. And drove and DROVE, with my FINE sense of direction, and COULD NOT GET into the Fort Knox that was Kaye's neighborhood. Does she have gold bouillon at her house? Is that what we were having for dinner? I'd never know, because I could not get there.
And did I have her number? No. I called information, got someone with HER name, yet it was NOT KAYE. It was some old lady, who of course I told the whole story to, how I was now LATE and I couldn't get IN and apparently MY Kaye had no listed PHONE and the old-lady Kaye felt just awful for me.
"I hope you get to your dinner party, honey." She was really nice.
Finally my cell rang–I mean my phone. Not that one of the cells in my body rang, which would be disconcerting. And it was my-friend-and-somewhat-Faithful-Reader-except-he-hasn't-read-my-blog-since-he-started-his-new-job-and-I-don't-see-where-that's-an-excuse-because-Terraplane-reads-and-comments-from-HIS-new-job-and-OMG-I-am-so-using-this-entire-intro-every-time-I-say-his-name-which-is-Marty-Martin.
"Did you use your GPS to get here?" he said. "Well OF COURSE I did!" I ranted. "Yeah. GPSes take everyone to that gate." And he directed me to the house and everything was fine. I considered calling old-lady Kaye to tell her I'd gotten there, finally.
Here are Kaye and Marty, whose name I am not going to hyphenate again because I am over myself. Anyway, I assure you they are a very happy couple, even though they could not be looking more dour right here.
We were discussing dating sites and Kaye mentioned Great Expectations. "It was the best of sites, it was the worst of sites," said Marty, who adores himself.
So that was my day, and you will notice all of it involved eating and eating. And rescuing M&Ms. Which is…eating.
Why so chubby?