I'm pulling myself together for a very early wake-up tomorrow—I will be heading to the state womens prison to help with a health education program I participate in every year, and that I love being a part of-- but super-early wake-ups are always very stressful for me because of my sleep issue and my natural night-owl tendencies. So this will be blessedly short.
It was another sort of ADD, scattered, tons-of-little-things-to-attend to sort of day, and I didn't have a chance to slow down until Mr. Typist informed me that I needed to come home because we were going out to dinner at To Remain Unnamed Restaurant, because he had heard through one of his rich and varied sources (the lady at the coffee shop) that said TRUR would be closing any day now.
We had a tasty dinner and the service was, ironically, the most friendly and attentive it's ever been there. At the end of it, our waitress dropped by to ask us if we wanted desert. Then she immediately launched into a rapturous and richly detailed description of her favorite desert—something to do with peaches, granola, ice cream and caramel, and a specific a layering thereof, clearly scientifically designed to create the world's greatest party in your mouth. “I have it, like, every night, which is terrible”, she faux-lamented, causing me to puzzledly observe her perfect, teensy waist and paper-flat stomach, “But it is so good!” We passed on desert, but when she left our table, both of us agreed that she either truly, passionately loved that peach dish, or she was an amazing actress who needed to get hired for a major motion picture immediately. I don't even like peaches, or dessert for that matter, and I was very tempted to order it just because of how excited she was by it. It makes me happy to think of her eagerly looking forward to that goopy, crunchy treat after a long night on her feet.
Note: Please don't neglect to check out my friend Dana's Compassion Project on My Gorgeous Somewhere, which was the inspiration for my ramblings.