I am still sick, but today is one of the last Saturdays before Christmas. Today's docket includes two holiday parties and a birthday bowling party. Did I mention that I am sick as a dog. A very sick mangy one legged dog? I have spent the first half of the morning cleaning the house. I mean scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees. Why am I subjecting myself to such home economical torture? Am I cleaning our house so that we can have a lovely neat homestead in which to joyfully celebrate an eventful weekend? Hell no! I am cleaning to impress our new 13-year-old babysitter. She is not our usual babysitter. Our usual perfect babysitter Kate is a Little House on the Prairie dream come true. She is polite, neat, responsible, and I am sure that she is a 40-year-old trapped in a 13-year old's body. She is the type of kid who see's you coming home from the grocery store, and then asks if she can help you with the groceries. Then she thanks you for letting her help. This kid is much more grown-up than any of us.
Kate is a far cry from some of the many teen queens who populate our quiet street. Our neighborhood consists of miss prom-queen who shocked us all by becoming a mom-teen. There is the stunning-sweet-super-model-teen-queen, who should start carrying mace, because she is that hot and that sweet. There are a gaggle of sporty and smart-teen-queens, and the ever-popular-miss-snotty-britches-teen queen. Then last but not least there is little evil-let me bitch slap her-teen-queen. She is the teen I have voted most likely to end up on VH1, in rehab, or in a maternity ward. She was an obnoxious kid, a rude tween, and now she is a full blown flaming witch. I hear her loud cackle as she rides her pink sparkle cell phone around the neighborhood at night.
There are a lot of teen aged boys too, but they are boys. They get taller but most of them are just as nice as they were when they were kids. The girls on the other hand seem to change in dog years, or even light years. Like Santa, I have kept an eye on who is naughty and who is nice. These girls are on there best behavior when they are looking for babysitting jobs. It's all "Yes, maim, no maim." But when I hear the girls on my naughty list with there girl friends screaming and laughing about how they cheated on this boy and some other boy almost found out. Or I see them dressed like little sex kittens seductively sucking on lollipops, posing on the hoods of sport cars, and turning tricks by the bus stop! These girl's are not ever coming near my daughter.
I can see it now. My little daughter in a skin tight leather micro mini and tube top. Strutting around the house in Cinderella high heals sauntering up to me and saying: "What's up bee-ah-ch? Where's my sippy cup at? I need a Cosmo, before my buzz wears off!"
No way! My daughter is going to be nerdy a loser, just like me and her grandmother before her. That's why I hand picked Kate out of all of the teen queens. She is a mom's dream come true and I am sure that she will get 1595 on her SATs and not get her first kiss until college. She is perfect! She unfortunately was busy tonight, helping her mom with one of the holiday parties we are attending.
That's why I am cleaning like crazy. I have a sporty teen queen coming over tonight. She is cute, and a popular and she has never baby sat before. I need to protect my reputation. I don't want the neighborhood and more importantly Franklin High School to know what a slob I really am. If she spreads bad gossip about how disgusting my house is I might never be able to get a "good" babysitter again. Then Alice will end up at the bus stop selling herself for Twinkies.
So as sick as I am I have to go back to cleaning! I have a 13-year-old to impress!
This year my idea was to have a picture of the four of us with pacifiers in our mouths. Dave would not agree. Then I thought of bringing the kids to the beach and making a snow man out of sand. Or having a winter beach picnic with Santa hats on. Then I found these pictures on the camera and thought for once I would make life easy for us all and not go over board. I know, it's hard to imagine. My husband always tells me that I gilt the lily. He ever promised that this Christmas he was going to buy me a vat of gold leaf and a bouquet of lilies so I can gilt them for real. So here is my no thrills card this year. Just my babies having fun on the beach.
This card is my favorite so far! This card didn't bring the Patriots a super bowl win. Curse you, Mannings! Here the kids are wearing their Patriot rally uniforms. We bring these out during important games. If you notice Dylan wears #28 Corey Dillon. Even though Corey has left the team Dylan still wears Dillon shirts. In fact I went and bought a back up before the team stopped making them. This picture also feature's the infamous Bobby the bunny. He is wearing a vintage Patriot's helmet from his old days playing in Sullivan Stadium. Alice is rocking out in a Patriot's Spirit scarf and cheerleader outfit. Alice prefers to wear her Tom Brady #12 rally shirt. My guess is that if given the chance she'd rather be a football player than a cheerleader. She follows in the foot steps of her 91 year old great granny, another die hard athlete and spots fan who can kick my ass any day of the week.
This picture is a fluke! Dave was raking leaves and they both wanted to help. I grabbed two of Dylan's jackets off of the floor that happen to match. They booth just happened to have on jeans. Also as Alice was running out the door in her brother's clothing I thought. "Gosh! The neighbor's will think she's a boy." So I quickly pinned a bow on her jacket's hood. The kids were still fighting those days, and Dylan still complained that he didn't like having a sister. For some reason they started playing in the leaves and smiling and hugging. I ran in to get my camera so I could have at least one nice affectionate picture to show them when they are adults. Poof...voila...one of my favorite childhood pictures of my kids.
In this picture Alice looks like a little tree frog. I couldn't get her to open her eyes. I also couldn't get Dylan to move any closer to her. This was the stage of his life when he told us that he hated her and referred to his new baby sister as "Piggy'. People would ask him if he loved his new sister and he would yell. "NO!" Then when people asked him what his new sister's name was, he's tell them. "Piggy, her name is Piggy!". People would look at me all confused. "Did he say Peggy?" "What's her name?" Oh the love! You can see it all over his face.
Watch out Franklin there is a new little heartbreaker in town! This picture was taken by me one night when I was reading Dylan bedtime stories in his bedroom (before he stuck stickers, pictures, and crap all over the walls, and broke the closet door off). He just looked so cute in his little pajamas. I also love the way he is holding the book and the teddy bears in the background.
My First Ever Christmas Picture card featuring Dylan at 1 month old.
Now that the Holiday card season is in full swing I thought that I would open up the old holiday picture archive. I will show you the ways I have displayed my lovely children in fun and humiliating ways!
Mommy is Wonder Woman. Mommy is always on duty, at the first cough, cry, or calamity, she jumps into her invisible glass jet and flies to the rescue. Most of the time she just runs into the next room. You never know about the jet, she could have one parked in the pantry, it's invisible after all. Mommies everywhere are their families personal super hero. That's why mommies are never allowed to get sick. We'll this mommy is sick! I mean head full of wet cotton, ear stabbing, throat scorching sick. I feel aches, pains, dizziness, not to mention the pain throbbing in my ear and down my throat. Momma's fuel tank is below empty and my system is starting to sputter.
What does this mean for my sweet dependents? Do the three of them look lovingly at me and say."You do so much for us. Let us take care of you?" Then Alice gently leads me to bed, while Dylan gets a warm cozy blanket, and Dave runs down stairs to make me a soothing cup of tea. Of course not!
Let's take this morning, I woke up with a fever, an ear ache, dizziness, and most likely a strep throat. I stagger out of bed and can barely talk because my throat is in such pain. I some how drag myself downstairs and make coffee. Dylan comes running in from the playroom.
"Mom! You're up! Can you make me cereal? Oh and I want apple juice!" I tell him that I am not feeling well today and I need him to help me out. Then he ignores me and runs back into the play room. The dog is jumping on my because she wants to be let out. Alice then comes out of the playroom and starts demanding cookies for breakfast. After battling with her and compromising on cereal, I fix her a bowl of cereal, and I pull myself up the stairs to get the kids clothing for the day. My face is cold and clammy, I feel like I am wearing a 400 pound jacket weighing down my body as I climb the stairs, and my throat even hurts when I breathe. At the top of the stairs Dave pops out of the shower like a young buck frolicking in the woods.
"Morning. How are you feeling?" "I am pretty sure that I am going to die before lunch time." "Oh...So Alice was wet this morning you're going to have to change her bedding, oh and the man's coming from the oil company to look at the furnace..." He keeps talking from the bedroom while I lay on the floor in the hall and wait for the walls to stop spinning, maybe if I lie her long enough they will all go away and leave me here to die. "...hey honey I smell coffee! Did you make enough for me?" Why is he so damn chipper! "Sure." I say. Getting up off of the floor. I can't die right now I have to get Dylan to school, then I'll rest.
I get the clothing and go back down stairs. They are all eating at the table. They spot me. "Mom can I have more milk?" "Mommy, mo' cereal?" "Honey, here is Dylan's book. He has to bring it back to school today." Then I hear the dog barking to be let back in the house. I dump the clothes onto the table and go into the bathroom. As I sit there I let my head drop to the side until it thumps against the wall. I stay there for a few moments. Knocking on the door.
"Mom can I go on the computer?" "No Dylan you have to get dressed." "Wwwhhhyyy. I never get to use the computer!" "Get dresses." "I can't find my clothes!" "I Put them right in front of you on the table." I open the door and tell him that he needs to get dressed now, or no computer for the rest of the day.
I then grab Alice's clothes and start to dress her in the playroom. She is fighting me every step of the way and in my weakened state she is actually winning. I finally get her dressed and my energy is drained and I am ready for bed. I walk into the kitchen to get her boots.
"So Honey" Dave says from the table. "I got up late this morning and missed my work out. I'll just go after work, and then do some Christmas shopping. No need to count me in for dinner" He then puts his mug into the sink and starts putting his laptop packed for work. I am try my best not to cry. I am so sick and no one cares. No one even notices. Then Dave says as he heads out the door.
"Call me if you need me." I look at him with confusion. Call him, if I need him? Because obviously in my current condition I am in no need of any help or the slightest assistance, how can Wonder Woman be sick? I am not even human, in fact I am an Amazonian-Android-Queen of the strongest variety? Is this man nuts? My current malaise is a mere ...sniffle! However if I get struck by lightening and start bleeding out of my eyes then he will offer assistance. Wow, that's love.
I give him my "I am about to cry and divorce you death" look, then he helps Alice on with her boots, takes her outside and buckles her in to the car. Then he kisses my good bye and drives away. I stand there in the drive way and wonder how I am going to live through this day. I guess the same way my mother did, and her mother did before her. Because mom's never get a sick day.
How well do you know your significant other? Do you know what kind of books or comic books they read when they were kids? Do you know what games, toys, and puzzles they played with? What kind of high school student were they? What kind of dolls, action figures, or stuffed animals did they play with? What kind of classes did they take in college? What hobbies and interests did they have?
I am happy to say that I can honestly answer all of these question about my husband Dave. Is the reason I know so much about my love due to my being a caring, interested wife and partner? NO! The simply reason is that he still has all of these things and other crap that's currently taking over my basement. Why on God's good earth does a 42 year old man need to hold on to 98 pounds of comic books? When asked on many occasion his answer is always the same.
"Hey, this is nothing, these (huge boxes) are only a fraction of the collection, I sold most of them."
In my darling husband's mind he is a collector. Non of these boxes upon boxes seem to be items that he is actively collecting, using or enjoying in any way. In my opinion the only thing being collected in the basement is dust bunnies. Oh, and bruises I am collecting bruises from tripping over these boxes on the way to the washer and dyer. These many boxes I have to maneuver around contain an antique camera collection, boxes of books about collecting, a collection of joke books, comic book collections, collections of prints and paintings, a coin collection, and his ridiculous collection of all of his financial records going back to his first job when he was 16-year-old. The sad part is that I am not kidding!
My darlings largest collection by far has to be his collection of school papers. These boxes start at grade school in the mid 1970's and go all the way to the year 2007 when Dave received his MBA. Dave likes to be prepared. Now if Dylan ever asks him what book Dave liked when Dave was his age, Dave can run downstairs and find his old book reports. Heck, I am sure that all of the books are down there too, and the clothing he wore when he read them. All labeled and neatly folded along with the half of a sandwich that he ate for lunch that day.
I often wonder why my husband's stuff bothers me so. The obvious reason being that we can never use our basement office, or even think of finishing the basement with his collections, or as I like to call the boxes, his crap, taking up all of the space. I honestly think that part of me is jealous. When Dave was a kid every paper he ever touched with a crayon was hermetically sealed by his mother and then placed in to a box with acid free tissue paper and love. When I was a kid I would give my mom my school papers and she would have her nose in a book. She might glance up between cigarette puffs and grunt, then she'd mindlessly use my paper as a coaster for her coffee mug, eventually, perhaps that same day my work would find it's final resting place in the trash. My paper, like all of my childhood treasures ended up in the trash. My Beautiful dolls, I don't know what happened to any of them, but I can guess. My beloved Madame Alexandra doll shoved head first into a mountain of egg shells and coffee grounds, her little legs sticking straight up out of the white plastic trash can, a monument to my broken childhood. Okay so we gave her away, but it could have happened!
My stuff was always being thrown away, given away, or at times things would disappear. Once I went to visit my cousin and she had a lot of my stuffed animals decorating her bed room. I was most upset about a huge Barbar the elephant, that my father had bought for me at FAO Shwartz, when I was staying with him for the weekend. Barbar was dressed in a spotless bright green suit with hat and shoes. He was so special to me because I loved those books, and I had picked it out with my father. My mother told me that we just didn't have enough room for them in our small apartment and that my cousin was just borrowing them. Yeah! Fast forward 30 years...are you done borrowing my elephant yet? Can I please have my Barbar back now!
My mother and her lies! None of my beloved possessions were safe from her evil trickery. Because my mother never saved anything. I don't have any cherished items from childhood. Forget a box full, I don't even have one. No blanket, no rattle, baby cup, stuffed animal or anything. I did find my sister and my baby books once, my sister's was lovingly filled out and mine had my name scribbled in it. Just my name, not even my birthday. That's what you get when you are the second child. You get shafted!
My sister, named after my father's mother received sterling baby cup, rattle, hair brush and mirror, all engraved with her initials.They sat on her dresser everyday of my childhood. You'd think after a few years people might have noticed that my dresser was looking a little empty! I mean my dresser was right next to hers. My shorter, less grand dresser.
Okay so I have issues, because I have nothing, and I am jealous of Dave because he has everything. I still think that saving everything is still nuts. However I have finally found a way to cope with his crap. When he was at work I went down in the basement and dumped out half of Dave's stuff. Then I grabbed a bottle of White Out and a huge permanent marker. I went through all of Dave's items and whited-out his name and wrote in mine! I wrote my name of half of his papers, books, toys, stuffed animals, comic books, cameras, and other important childhood memorabilia. Now we both have a somewhat contained(Still more than normal) amount of kid stuff in our basement.
What? I am his wife and half of everything that he owns belongs to me.
So my husband and I are a little different. I honestly do have ADD, I like to have fun and fly by the seat of my pants, and he is an old boring fuddy-duddy. That’s why this Sunday after noon I put up the Christmas lights alone and we are still happily married.
I grabbed the old diaper box with balled up tangled lights and spent a long time detangling them.
If my husband Dave were to put up Christmas lights he would not have to detangle them because he would have put them away the year before in a neat organized manner.
Once the lights were finally detangled I take all of the lights outside and sing Christmas Carrolls while I lovingly put them on the tree.
Dave would have tested them all out inside, then he would throw away the defective strings and find our longest outdoor extension cord and other misc. man tool like things. Then he would have put on gloves and a hat and then he would go outside.
Once the lights were lovingly on the tree I realized that I needed and outdoor extension cord. I ran inside to get one and plugged it in to the house. Too bad this one was too short to reach the tree. I ran back inside to get a longer extension cord. Then I plugged in the lights and realized that 2 of the strings of lights were half unlit. On second look I realized that the icicle lights on a white string looked pretty stupid on a green pine tree. Oh, but the white string of stars looked ridiculous! I take all of the lights lovingly off of the tree, still singing. Even though I can no longer feel my hands, I should have put on gloves and perhaps my hat.
Once outside Dave would take a long time to look at the tree and decide the best technique in which to apply the lights. He then methodically, and except for a few expletives, quietly puts the lights on the tree. He also uses duct tape from his supply of man tools and things to tape down the extension cord so no one trips. After he has accomplished his tasks he then puts all of the tools and things back where they belong. He hangs up his coat, hat and gloves. The guy needs to have a little fun and excitement in his life. That's how he would hang them, but he is inside watching the Patriots where he belongs. If he were out with me he'd be all pissed off complaining that I am wasting time.
I take my poor strings of half lit lights inside and try to fix them. I try to change their cute little fuses with the extras the included, still attached to the string since last year (see I am organized!). I change the little thingies and now the whole string is out. I put back in the original fuse thingies and the string is still out. I ball up the string of lights and throw them in the trash.
Then I look out at my little cute mini porch and have a great idea. I grab my white star lights and icicle lights and run out to the porch. I run out so quickly that I am still wearing no gloves or hat. I jump up on a white plastic chair and start to hand the star lights on some nails left in by previous owners. Then I hear the chair give an exhausted moan and I decide not to temp fate. I jump down and knock over an overfilled basket of cans that I keep forgetting to bring back to the store.
I pick up the cans and put them back in the overflowing basket and go inside to grab a kitchen chair. I have to move the large cooler the milk man put’s our milk in and the 2 car seats that a friend donated to one of my Christmas Families. I fit the chair in a corner and go back to work singing away while my frozen hands work their magic. I put up half of the lights and they look great! I can’t reach the center nail, I have to move the chair. I quickly have to rearrange the car seats, the cooler, and the overflowing basket to get the chair in the right place. Then in a few minutes and some more dropped can later I am up on the chair singing and putting up my Christmas magic. I have to move the chair and my obstacles one more time to fasten the other side. Then I jump down and step directly one the basket of cans and fall backwards on my butt. Cans go everywhere and I flip the milk cooler over on it’s side. I am sitting in a sea of cans and laughing. When you are me, you have to learn to laugh at yourself, it makes life a blast.
I pick up the cans, flip the cooler back over, and grab the icicle lights. Something is wrong. I need the prong plug to put into the outlet. But, the star lights also need a prong plug in order for me to connect the two strings. I slowly and sadly look over at the other end of the star lights. Of course! I hung them up backwards. The prong plug located on the other end.
I stop singing and go through the whole moving of the chair and crap all over again. I take down the lights and re-hang them. Then I attach the icicle lights and use old trash bag ties to hold them in place. Dave isn’t the only one who is handy. I take a step back and am instantly in love with my magical little porch!
I look out and see my little fat pine tree. He looks so naked. He needs lights too! I almost forgot about him. I go back inside and grab my remaining two remaining green strings of lights and take them outside. I have no reason for gloves because I haven’t been able to feel my hands for 2 hours, what are a few more minutes. I string them to my tree and realize quickly that I have to go get more lights. I stocked up last year during the after Christmas sales. I run down to the basement and grab the two boxes of brand new lights only to find that they are empty. I guess I used them last year and forgot to throw the boxes away.
I have to run to CVS and buy Christmas lights! I look at the clock and see that the time is 7:15! I have spent almost 3 hours putting up Christmas lights! No wonder the kids kept sticking their heads out of the house complaining that I am ignoring them! I leave all of the scissors, fuses, boxes and any other supplies I have used right where they are. I even leave the kitchen chair on the porch. I have to start getting them ready for bed ASAP I have no time to waste cleaning.
I quickly get them ready for bed, brush teeth, read stories and turn out the light. I run downstairs and quickly pick up and by the time the Patriot’s win their game and Dave comes out of hibernation. Viola! All he needs to know is the Christmas lights are up the kids are in bed! We stay happily married and live happily ever after.
Saturday night I experienced pure and unadulterated ecstasy and it was worth every penny. Now I am going to share all of the steamy intimate details only with you. My love affair started when I walked into her place. A beautiful elegant space in the heart of Providence, my Gracie's is a cool & sexy city girl. I opened the door and walk into an inner entrance way and saw a silky jewel tone curtain cascading from the ceiling flanked by exotic aromatic flowers in tasteful arrangements. My senses soaked in the splendor as my heart was giddy anticipating the bliss that only Gracie’s grants on the other side.I opened the curtain and was welcomed by 2 beautiful women who introduced my mother and me to Gracie.An opulent sensual adventure as this can not fully be experienced alone.
One of the women took our coats and the other led us further into this gorgeous and romantic space. The space was filled with a warm golden light and magical stars adorned the ceiling and walls like a dream. We were led to a silky soft couch with ruby red pillows next to a table. We took our seats looked at each other and giggled. We share a quick glance and silently communicated that this was going to be a night to top on other.
Moments later were approached by a dark and handsome man who had a mischievous glint in his eye. He notified us that his name was Matthew and his sole purpose is to fulfill our every wish and desire.Then he asked us if he could get us a drink Mom ordered a spiced pear martini and I, on the other hand knew I wanted an amazing glass of red wine, but I can never remember the names of the wines that I like. I told Matthew that I wanted a wine like me, full bodied, full of flavor and boldness, but not bitter, nor dry. Matthew knew me well he brought my mom her drink and two tastes of wine for me. The wine glasses he brought were filled with ruby redness that has not been seen in these parts since Dorothy and her shoes went back to Kansas, both wines were me, the first one was fruitier and fun, but I chose the later that was bolder and a little more intense. After all we were dressed up and in the city.
As Matthew left the table my mother’s bland smile turned into the wild exuberance of an excited school girl. “Lydia! You have to try this!”She handed me her drink and I had visions of a syrupy warm roasted pear coming out of grandma’s oven sprinkled with sugar, tangy spices, and love. Then my heavenly Merlot arrived and we raised our glasses to toast the beginning of a night of naughty bliss.
Attentive Matthew returned to our side, her was gentle and sensitive to our needs, understanding that this was our virgin visit to Gracie’s. We appreciated Matthew’s gentle technique; he started slow and let us ask the questions, then he listened to our needs. No pretension, no foodie elitism, our man was just right.
A sweet younger guy, just as cute, brought us bread, if you know what I mean. He gave us a gift like no other real Banquette and Foccacia, and sweet butter. I love bread, I have a passion for bread, bread completes me. A bite of this bread and I am Sally, from When Harry Met Sally. You know the scene. Oh, yes, yes, you do. No, I am not embarrassed, because my mother is right next to me doing the same thing. If they mail ordered this bread, my husband would be optional.
As my mother and I are coming back to our senses and straightening our hair, Matthew bring us a bite from heaven. An amuse bouche; a little unexpected something to amuse the mouth…no not that, a million times better. This was part orange, part orgasm, the flavor in this little bite kept growing, and changing, until the grand crescendo; a mini flavor explosion. My mother and I rolled our eyes and covered our mouths and giggled. This food was sinful and we felt so naughty.
Our first course arrived; my mother’s greens with blue cheese dressing; to say the least my immature pallet has never appreciated blue cheese; until now; that was the best salad I ever tasted. Believe me, I am a fat woman, I have eaten fields of salad; hands down the best salad. I was hoping that she would go use the rest room so that I could lick her salad bowl. Yes, that good! I had the beets. The sweetest freshest beets ever; coupled with delicately breaded little rounds of melted ricotta cheese. The only thing I love as much as bread is cheese. Nothing seduces my senses like melted smooth creamy cheese, except smooth, melted, cheese, breaded and fried. One bite I am tempted to send my bra back to the chef. If my mother wasn't here I might. Is she thinking the same thing? She probably is, the food is that good, it makes a good girl, bad.
Realizing that we were getting too hot and heavy Matthew brings us a petite scoop of green apple sorbet to cool us off. Hose us off would be more appropriate. The cold sweet and tart dances in perfect balance the flavor twisting and turning. My mom and I shake our heads; usually nice girls like us don't feel this way.
We quietly discuss how this food has awakened passions that we have for so long neglected. I have been unfulfilled; with my busy life and small children I have survived without. Well not anymore! Tonight I am making up for lost time. We have decided that we are going to enjoy ourselves and refuse to feel guilty in the morning.
When the main courses arrive, their intoxicating scent is almost too good bare. We admire these gorgeous creations not knowing where to begin. I take a bite of my salmon, making sure to capture all of its beauty and uniqueness in a perfect nibble. The fish melts in my mouth like warm butter, the crisp texture of the light skin, married with the savory smooth sauce and salty bacon. I look at my mother, my brain whirling with genuine bliss. My pallet has never felt this much passion. I am almost helpless in the arms of such an experience as this. I swallow and say:
“Oh my God. Oh my god. OH MY GOD!”
“That good, honey…mine too” I can’t say anything else.
“Oh-My God! Mom, I mean OH-MY-GOD!“
“I know honey, I know.” We devour every morsel; we share in our collective orgy of pleasure. Her short ribs are just as orgasmic as my salmon. She lets me try a Tatter Tot. A shaved black truffle Tatter Tot, the Michael Phelp’s of Tatter Tots. The; I am coming back to consciousness now; I think I just saw God Tatter Tot. We savor every bite and experience pure ecstasy the only legal way a mother and daughter can. Pure unadulterated ecstasy and I wasn’t even embarrassed to have my mother see me do it.
Neither of us smokes, and after excitement like that you need a cigarette. We settled for a cup of coffee, the best cup of coffee in the world. I know coffee; my three passions in life are bread, cheese, and coffee. I used to think that the best cup of coffee was in the outdoor cafes in Paris. Now I have truly tasted coffee, I stand corrected. My mother’s espresso came with a teaspoon holding 2 brown sugar cubes and tiny curl of a lemon peel. Even the sugar is perfect here; the tiny details that make a girl feel special.
My mother and I were truly satisfied in a way that we haven’t been before. We felt true delight; this was not a meal, we shared a meaningful powerful experience. We came to Gracie’s for enjoyment, to partake in a guilty gratifying opulence that neither of our current lifestyles permits too often. Gracie’s satisfied our needs beyond our wildest dreams. Gracie’s is special, once you have been there you will never look at food the same way again.
On our way out the Manger made sure to ask us more than once if we had a good time and if we would come again. Sweetie, don’t worry this is not a one night stand. I took your number, don’t worry I’ll call. Soner than you think!
Gracie's is a sure thing! http://www.graciesprov.com/
PS we did have dessert too, but this was getting way too long.
