Remember how I told you that it rains, sleets, snows or is unbearably hot on Grocery Shopping day? We’ve exited the rain-curse phase and entered the unbearably-hot-the-bread-is moldy-before-you-get-home-phase.
Heat index of over 100 degrees today. How is this possible? It’s not like we’re in the south. We’re like, 4 or 5 whole miles north of the Mason Dixon line. Nobody has a drawl. If there are no drawls, then it shouldn’t get this hot.
Speaking of grocery shopping I’m so tired of buying food and eating it. When are we going to get around to evolving into beings of light and energy so we don’t have to keep eating all the time? If I lived alone, I’d live off of cheese sticks, cherry tomatoes, and Sonic’s Jr. Deluxe Burgers. Maybe Cap’n Crunch for breakfast just for the vitamins and minerals.
Yesterday. I didn’t write about yesterday yesterday (no that’s not a typo), because I posted the ending to Jeff’s detective novel instead.
But yesterday was Soup Day. It was at Lisa’s house this time. I’ve never been to Lisa’s house before. Look at the wall in her livingroom:
Her husband has his own bathroom where Lisa never enters. People, this is the road to wedded bliss.
There’s a toilet, sink and mirror in it, and that’s it. If it gets dirty, he just hoses it down.
Lisa made us soup but no bread. Instead of bread, she made us cake. Barbetta pointed out that this was a rich tradition of foreign origin, “No bread? Let them eat cake!”
Lisa made a coconut cake. She was supposed to bring a coconut cake to Soup Day months and months ago, but due so some unforeseen circumstance, she couldn’t make it to Soup and therefore couldn’t bring the cake.
Unforeseen circumstance, my eye. The unforeseen circumstance was that she’d been smelling cake baking all morning and didn’t want to share.
And no wonder. That cake was delicious!
But a few unrefined people at Soup Day didn’t like coconut cake, so Wendy took it upon herself to make cherry cupcakes.
See the coconut cake and the loving care that went into making it beautiful for us?
Now look at Wendy’s cupcakes. It’s like she just slapped these things together.
It’s obvious that Wendy doesn’t love us as much as Lisa does.
Yesterday, Darling Husband and I went to a restaurant called Sakura. It’s a Japanese restaurant. They seat you in a horseshoe shape around grills and the chefs cook your food in front of you.
The below picture was taken by a man who worked there. I sort of wasn’t paying attention to the fact that he didn’t speak English and gave him all sorts of instructions on how to take the picture. “Get our feet in the shot. And that statue. Hold the button halfway till you find the red dot. Put the dot on our faces. Re-hold the button halfway down to focus. Push the button, but not too long or you’ll take 10 pictures.”
This is why it takes a half hour to get one shot, people. I’d already set the aperture, ISO and zoom length, and taken 4 practice shots on Darling Husband before I handed over the camera.
The man looked utterly frazzled, but his culture bound him to be polite and smile and nod at me. In the end, I think he did a fine job with the picture, don’t you?
Then it was time for our quiet dinner.
There is absolutely no reason for flames to shoot 4 feet into the air, but that doesn’t stop the chefs.
There was a 2 year old at one of the tables, and every time his grill was lit into a bonfire fire he’d burst into tears. His mom kept telling him it was ok.
Way to go, Mom, overriding our natural human instincts to fear fire. Next time the drapes catch on fire, little Junior will just shrug and figure, “Eh. Big balls of flame above my head? I’ve seen that before. No biggie.”
Or maybe he’ll become a little arson and 10 years from now he’ll end up in front of Master Jeff at the circuit court.
At the end of their cooking, the chefs toss bits of food at you to catch in your mouth. I’ve never been good at sports, and the shrimp kept bouncing off my forehead.
Speaking of sports, I’ve been trying to buff up my puny arms so that I can take pictures with Alex held aloft above my head. You’d be surprised how often you need to take pictures above your head. And you’d be surprised how blurry those pictures turn out if you have puny, quivering arms.
So after I walk on the treadmill, I head into the bug-filled basement and wait my turn behind the buff million-leggers to use the weight bench. Here’s a picture of the weight bench:
And a million-legger just finishing up his workout:
Unfortunately, I’m completely puny and the most I can lift is 20 pounds. It’s a little embarrassing, because that’s the same amount that Boy7 lifts. And for the thing that you’re supposed to push over your head? Only 10 pounds. So humiliating.
Here’s a picture of the 10 pounds I can lift. Look at all the rest of the weights on there! I’ve got a loooong way to go…