Ladies At Lunch

Today I will be a lady at lunch, as opposed to a lunch lady, serving up gobs of hot mush to screaming kiddies. Today I will dress nicely and do my best to behave, although I can't make any promises.  You know how I get when I'm excited.  Today I will lunch with my wonderful, gorgeous, gifted friend Carla.  We are celebrating the miracle, the magic, the quizzical blend of genetics that makes up the SJG.   It is my birthday all week.

You heard me.  I just keep getting older.  And older.  They've set aside an entire day to mark this progression.  Mine arrives on Sunday.  Most people only get one day to gloat. My birthday requires a protracted, highly-caloric feast, whereby my nearest and dearest fatten me up until my seams split.  Today I will try not to overindulge.  I will eye the menu at the fancy place overlooking the ocean, and debate whether to have a dainty salad "lightly dressed" or a sizable melted gruyere sandwich with garlic pommes frites.  And then, knowing me, I will say, in a ladylike way, "Oh eff the salad, gimme the gruyere and the fries."  Shall I chase it down with a diet soda or a glass of wine?  Hmmm.  Let me think about it.  I'll get back to you.  Wine.  And when it comes time for dessert, I will demur and say, "Oh, goodness me, I couldn't eat another bite."  Carla will insist I order a little something.  She's very persuasive.  I'll debate whether to have a bowl full of fresh berries or a thick slice of chocolate gateau, my name swirling all over the plate.  SJG.  SJG.  SJG.  What to do?  Berries?  Cake?  Cake?  Berries.  Hmmm... Let me think about it.  Don't pressure me.  Cake it is.  What an inspired idea.  Did I mention it's my birthday?  All week.  I still have a few openings in my busy schedule.