Suzy Says

What’s the cure for the bad mail bummer? A frivolous day with a fabulous friend!

I fled the city in the civilized manner, by train*, and arrived at K’s jewel box of a house just after high noon. Poor K really was working at home, being trapped on a conference call with a recalcitrant client, so I took the opportunity to lounge in her back yard, play with her dogs, and flip through fashion magazines.

When K finally freed herself, we went and had lunch at a charming Indian restaurant. It was very stylish without being overpriced or overpretentious, and the food was wonderful. We indulged freely in naan, lentil dal, and butter chicken, with a wicked glass of wicked South African wine.

After the splendid lunch, we visited the handbag store. Yes, K’s small town has a store entirely devoted to handbags, and you already know I am entirely devoted to handbags. So I have a teeny-tiny substance abuse problem. I couldn’t resist this number, deep red leather from Columbia, with a happy yellow lining. The only one in the store. And on sale. And he didn’t charge me tax, so it was practically free! Yes, I can justify almost anything if I really want it. But do you blame me?

As we left the handbag store, K, who had bought a summer bag and matching wallet, had an inspiration. First mani-pedi of the season! Off we went to the vibrating chairs and the ministrations of the manicurists, who made our fingers and toes things of beauty. I couldn’t resist having little paintings on my big toes**, and nagged K into getting some, too (hers were daisies). Nothing can cheer a girl up faster than spontaneous nail art and massage chairs. We went back to K’s house and admired our toes.

Then reality intervened, in the form of the laundromat.

I haven’t been to a laundromat in 15 years. Maybe more. My buildings always had their own. So it had been a while, and my, how times have changed! Instead of the slots where you’d put in your three or four quarters, there’s a display with times and the cost, upper and lower dryers, and I don’t know what-all. It didn’t take long for K to consign me to the change machine, where my lack of skills could do the least damage, and where I felt like I’d won the lottery, as the silvery change plummeted merrily into the holder. There was laughter at my expense. Maybe I should get a handicapped plaque that reads “Domestically disabled”, since I clearly am.

*If only they looked like trains do in Strangers on a Train and Leave Her to Heaven (though with different results)!

**Please excuse the traces of unsuitable shoes worn not wisely, but and too well. Look at the sparkly toes instead!