Bub’s birthday is tomorrow and I’m excited because I’ve finally decided what I’ll be making him. No pineapple upside down cakes like last year (although tasty). Bub weighs in on what he wants. It came down to German Chocolate Cake and some Chocolate Chip Sour Cream cake number. Although he hasn’t outright said it, I think he’s more interested in the German Chocolate Cake. And since it’s not my birthday, I haven’t said either way what I’d prefer to make, but I vote for German Chocolate Cake, too. The thing is, the recipe I’m using is from Magnolia’s Bakery cookbook, a gift from a long-lost friend (who again is now lost) who gave it to me at my bridal shower. So far, other recipes in the book haven’t let me down aside from weighing me down with the fat and fat and fat that the recipes often call for (buttermilk, butter, etc.). Anywho.
I went to the grocery store in hopes of getting what I needed for said cake, but should have planned ahead because I couldn’t recall what we already had in the house. That on top of the fact that we’re in desperate need of regular non-cake related items had me thinking that it’s not to be avoided; I’ll need to go to the grocery store in the early a.m., hopefully after or before a trip to the gym since hi, I haven’t been in almost three weeks. EEEEEEK. Feeling guilty? Scarily, no. I’m making up for it by not eating much and having wine for dinner.
Since my lunch plan to go get groceries failed, I hit Starbucks for a piece of reduced-fat coffee cake and an iced non-fat latte (can’t they just say “skim latte”?) for lunch. Then I fit in a trip to a nail place literally 2 seconds from my office to get a polish change for my toes.
I had heard good things about the place or mostly non-bad things about it from my co-workers. I just wanted the quick change because my French pedi had gone to hell and I was wearing sandals (because it’s a bazillion degrees out) and would be tomorrow and my toes were scary. I have this thing about wearing sandals when toes are not in at least “good” condition, if not freshly painted and in excellent shape. I know, I’m a high-maintenance nails person or H-MNP. So I went and picked out my color and marveled at how I’m so great to fit this into my lunch hour and was not paying a ton for fancy shmancy pedi (if I had more time, I probably would have just had the whole kit and caboodle).
So Mr. Polish takes me down to a chair to change my French into My Chihuahua Bites! when I saw three little girls sitting in chairs all having just finished with their pedis.
By the time I got done and went to dry my toes, the three girls had migrated over to the drying area too, and I came to sit across one of the blonde girls. They couldn’t have been more than 10. Not triplets, but maybe. Their mother was getting a French manicure. She was very good with them, keeping her eye on things while chatting up another Mr. Polish.
The little girl who sat across from me made eye contact so I smiled. I couldn’t see her mouth because she was so short, but she smiled back at least with her eyes. After they were done drying, they were wandering around, waiting for mom. The girl who had sat across from me looked like she might be a cheerleader when she was older. Cute little yellow skirt with matching tank top. Long straight blonde hair and bangs. She loved to have fun; it was apparent.
Another girl had the curly-crazy blonde hair. She might be the tom-boy, sporty girl. She had on her cute little girl clothes and big girl sandals. They really were big girl because they looked like hand-me-downs that had been worn a little but ones which she had not yet grown into. Being a little wild-child (I’m not sure she was, but from appearance, I think she could be), I don’t think she cared what she looked like.
Then there was the third girl. AKA the girl who resembled me. Short bob ‘do. A bit haute couture for a girl that age (not that I was haute couture, but I was the girl who had short hair at that age out of my friends and sister, although brunette) and then she turns and yes, the glasses. She was the only one of the three with the glasses. She was wearing what I would have worn: Birkenstock sandals just like Mom bought me and jean shorts. From what I witnessed, she was quieter and more withdrawn.
I wondered at what age the woman had her kids. She seemed happy, not that old, and really with it as a parent. She was already figuring out with one of her kids what her daughter would wear on Halloween and telling her not to stress; she had a couple of months! It was still August!
And I was jealous of this mom who could go get her nails done with her girls. Another summer Friday, another day carrying on. Being a parent. No cares about MFA’s, work, not going to the gym…
I finished first. My toes were done and I had to be back to work (so that I could write this post) and that family could be left to their own devices. Swimming pools, sunshine, growing up together.
*No, I don’t have a chihuahua.