Sunday, May 31, 2015

     Today featured another special moment in my life as a wanna-be-young senior. I entered the Victoria Secret store planning to buy some new underwear. A young woman of about 12 approached me in a black maxi dress with a lanyard around her neck, indicating that she was an employee. She asked what I was looking for, and then how long it had been since I had been measured for a bra. “Hmmm. I would say, maybe 20 years, give or take a month or two.” She asked if I would like to be measured, and I started to say no when my daughter reminded me that they could do that over your clothes. I said, “Sure.” So she measured me and said, “What size do you think you are?” I said, “34 B.” She smiled politely and said, “Well, you measure a 32 D.” I rocked on my stilettos, and exclaimed, “Omg! I’ve gone up two cup sizes in the last 30 seconds. This place rocks!” Yeah, right. $130 later. . . 

     My daughter took me to lunch at The Cheesecake Factory. We shared a lunch portion of salmon with brown rice. She ate about 1/3 of her 1/2. I inhaled my small half and munched on some bread. We ordered a piece of cheesecake--a treat we rarely allow ourselves. She took two bites, I took three, and we brought the rest home in a box. We were both so stuffed, we could barely eat dinner, in fact, I don’t think she has eaten yet, and it’s 9:00. Any wonder her older sister is an eating therapist?

    Mr. Wonderful and I took a short hike up the mountain this morning. We left the car at 8:10 and returned at 10:19. It was a glorious hike in the fresh mountain air under the always blue Arizona sky. We passed several people dressed in black. We don’t understand why in 106 degree heat people wear black shirts and black pants and drive black cars. Are we missing something? 

     Last night, Mr. Wonderful and I celebrated his birthday at the Chart House, a beautiful seafood restaurant on a lake with the beautiful mountains in the distance. We got all dressed up and enjoyed a delicious dinner and cocktails. When we presented the waiter with our $50 gift card from Open Table, they couldn’t figure out how they could honor it, as I had not registered it on Valentine’s Day when it was given to me. We gave the waiter the e-mail Mr. Wonderful had sent me that read, “Here’s a special gift to my pussy, er, kitty.” I can just imagine the conversation that took place in the back room when the manager and the waiter tried to figure out how to honor our reward. Meow.

     Ah, the joys of living spontaneously.