Very good morning!
That's what all our European servers said on our river cruise, and I've taken it back to America. You're welcome, America.
Make America polite again.
So, Bails, what are you doing at this exact moment?
Thanks for asking!
I'm eating oatmeal and typing! Yay!
I'm at Starbucks.
There's a man knitting outside. Love it. Love it so much, which is just the right amount.
So I dropped off my car BRIGHT AND EARLY this Saturday morning, for an airbag recall that I should have dealt with months ago -- Hi, Mom and Dad...
Instead of having my sweet love pick me up at 7:30 from the mechanic, I've decided to walk 3.3 miles to his apartment.
Now, I'm not totally insane, because I'm not skipping my coffee this morning. Duh.
So I'm currently parked (with my body, not my car) at the coffee shop.
I got in line and paid for a bottle of water and ordered a plain coffee (which I added skim milk to) and oatmeal.
I took a seat at the bar.
Not the bar where they make drinks, that would be intrusive and uncomfortable for everyone.
The bar in the lobby. Wait, what did we used to call it, when I worked at Starbucks? Did we call it the lobby? Maybe we did. I'm trying to remember what my supervisors would say to me -- was it "go on a lobby sweep"?
Anyway. You don't care. I don't care all that much, so moving on.
I immediately texted my support network to tell them of my coffee-and-walking plan. Then, naturally, I called Dad.
He was eating eggs in Kansas.
I told him that I had been waiting for my oatmeal but hadn't received it yet.
He encouraged me to go get what I paid for.
The line was long, so I talked with him a little longer.
Got off the phone, got back in line.
[Isn't it fun reading my diary like this? You get the play by play of every last detail weeeeeee!]
I was standing there in the much shorter than before line, and all of a sudden:
I felt something touching my butt.
I honestly had no idea what it was.
All I could think was:
"Something feels squishy about my bum."
"Something inappropriate is happening."
I looked down and realized that a sweet little boy had mistaken me for the human he had come with, and was giving my leg a little snuggle snuggle.
Now he's sitting outside with his mum and he's making eyes at me through the window.
Bum touching flirt.
If he weren't two years old, I would never stand for this.
Remember the guy knitting? He's still at it. Swoon, swoon, goes my gender role defying heart.
Guess what? The car place just called, my car's already done!
Sooooo, I'ma finish this oatmeal (which I added nuts and fruit to, but no sugar, by the by), walk back to the mechanic, and then drive my newly fixed car to the gym. Skipping my outside walk -- instead I'll do some treadmill work and weights.
I love lifting weights. I feel like a He Man Woman Lover. I mean, I'm not a lover to any woman, but I don't hate women, like Alfalfa-who-was-in-love-with-Darla claimed to do.
What I'm trying to say is lifting weights makes me feel tough and strong and awesome.
All righty. I'm gonna finish up my breakfast, say goodbye to my new toddling boyfriend, and head to the gym!
I learned in Europe that "gymnasium" means something else -- I can't remember what, though...just googled it. It means school.
Is "googled" supposed to be capitalized?