Yesterday was hubby’s birthday. He worked from 5am to 7pm so my plan was dinner in–veal paprika cream, green beans, Zinfandel, mint chocolate chip ice cream cake. After work, I hoofed it home on the subway and stopped at Ralphs to pick up some ingredients. Unfortunately, Ralphs didn’t have veal. “Not till tomorrow at 7am,” said a stout man in a smeared, white apron. As if I’d still be in the market for some stewing veal with my morning brew. Oh well, chicken paprika cream would have to do. Too bad I didn’t have my bank card, it being zipped up safely in my coat pocket from the night before. Oopsie. No matter, birthday dinner charged on our joint, never-to-be-used Amex. Not the worst… Swung by Baskin Robbins and made it home at 6:30, right in time to tidy and get things cooking before he arrived. That is, if my keys hadn’t been sitting back at work on my desk. Me on doorstep waiting for tired husband with melting ice cream cake = sad wife.
An hour or so, a stiff rum and tonic, and some power cooking later, birthday dinner salvaged.
This morn I drove hubby to work at 4:30am. Who works that early? I mean, other than farmers? Film crews do. Onward to tonight: a bachelorette party or rather a non-bachelorette, bachelorette party–just a gathering of reasonable, thirty-something gals celebrating your standard, six-year-in-the-making, non-conventional union of a non-practicing Mormom and a non-practicing Jew. I have the honor of hosting one of my oldest pals and her two-month-old boy, which will inevitably either make my womb hurt or propel me to reconsider The Pill.
Right then, off to find the CBC radio program on condoms in porn (part of yesterday’s AIDS day line-up) that a friend mentioned listening to. Did any Canadians out there hear it?