Random acts of not unpleasant weirdness
So I decided tonight was going to be all about me. I go snag a mani and a pedi. The pedi promptly gets mangled by my espadrilles, reminding me I really need to buy some new flip-flops to wear to the manicurist. Afterwards I go in search of some dinner, hopefully before the next thunderstorm dumps itself on me. Mallorca is not seeming as attractive as I had hoped, and Ava was closed for Monday. In keeping with my desire to eat at somewhere new every month, I hit Pontiac Grille. The menu is slightly above-class bar fare but the summer tostada steak salad looks enticing and I have a table to myself immediately by the open garage door front wall with a sweltering view of South Street in full clamor. As I finish up my salad and pay the waitress, a young lady--all creamy skin, freckles, and clean hair pulled back into a tousled ponytail--approaches me at the open window and hands me a single, fresh, vibrantly orange gerbera daisy. As I steel myself to be regaled by chants of "Hare! Hare! Krishna! Krishna!" she smilingly mumbles something impossible to hear above the din of South Street. For some reason my visage charmed her into giving me a flower and now I am unable to hear her complete and apparently sincere reason. I try to return as sincere smile as I can through my confusion and thank her for her odd, yet not unpleasant offering. Other restaurant patrons cast warm and smirkish grins at me as I leave clasping the bright token, now sitting on my dining room table.
So I decided tonight was going to be all about me. I go snag a mani and a pedi. The pedi promptly gets mangled by my espadrilles, reminding me I really need to buy some new flip-flops to wear to the manicurist. Afterwards I go in search of some dinner, hopefully before the next thunderstorm dumps itself on me. Mallorca is not seeming as attractive as I had hoped, and Ava was closed for Monday. In keeping with my desire to eat at somewhere new every month, I hit Pontiac Grille. The menu is slightly above-class bar fare but the summer tostada steak salad looks enticing and I have a table to myself immediately by the open garage door front wall with a sweltering view of South Street in full clamor. As I finish up my salad and pay the waitress, a young lady--all creamy skin, freckles, and clean hair pulled back into a tousled ponytail--approaches me at the open window and hands me a single, fresh, vibrantly orange gerbera daisy. As I steel myself to be regaled by chants of "Hare! Hare! Krishna! Krishna!" she smilingly mumbles something impossible to hear above the din of South Street. For some reason my visage charmed her into giving me a flower and now I am unable to hear her complete and apparently sincere reason. I try to return as sincere smile as I can through my confusion and thank her for her odd, yet not unpleasant offering. Other restaurant patrons cast warm and smirkish grins at me as I leave clasping the bright token, now sitting on my dining room table.
1 Comments:
At 9:35 PM,
ACG said…
Your beauty inspires those around you... ok, that sounds a bit fortune cookieish...
You're beautiful inside and out.
Love you.
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