Honey- those boots weren't made for walkin'.
And the picture does not do them the slightest bit of justice. They were the sparkliest inanimate objects I've ever seen in my life. You'd need a video of them to really be able to see the way they caught light, tossed light, splashed light, and lit up the world. Those shoes are the disco balls of footwear.
Jessie was modeling them in the Goodwill.
She texted this morning and asked if I wanted to meet her in town. She was going to take Sophie to get groomed and needed to go to Goodwill to look for costume items. Tomorrow is 100th day at school for August and they can either take in a hundred items of something or dress like a one hundred year old person. Also, Jessie and Vergil and some other folks in the family are going to an Edgar Allan Poe reading at a bar this weekend and dressing appropriately is suggested. Vergil had nothing to wear for the occasion so obviously a trip to the GW was indicated.
We dropped off Sophie at the groomers and then went and ate lunch. We were at the way north side of town where neither of us ever go. I used to live up there on the road that the pet place borders along with about a million other stores, shops, bars, and restaurants. When I lived there, back in the seventies, I doubt there were thirty houses on that road and it's not a short road. There were a few churches and two juke joints. It was a Black community with one very large house where white people lived. The other white people who lived out there were, to put it bluntly, hippies. My ex-husband and I were two of those. We were so graciously welcomed into the community. I cannot stress that enough. We rented a little bitty house from a woman who lived next door in her double-wide which was a far superior dwelling in all regards to the house we lived in. I've written about this time in my life before and I won't go into it all again tonight but I am so grateful for those months we lived there. Perhaps a year? I don't remember. But I was allowed to be a small part of a community so rich in a completely different culture than the white one I'd always lived in.
But now that whole area is one mini-mansion after another and although we did not drive down the whole road, just being on a small part of it was almost more than I could bear. If you're interested at all in that time of my life and some of my experiences then, do a blog search for Smitty's Club.
But back to lunch. We chose a place that serves seafood which you know we love. Jessie had read some good things about the place and so we decided to try it.
Okay. Let me ask you a question- have you ever worked in food service? If you have and you have nightmares about the worst experiences you ever had working in a restaurant, then you know what was going on in that restaurant today. It really bothered Jessie far more than me.
First of all, the food was sort of ridiculously expensive. Secondly, the service was wacky. Both servers seemed to get everything wrong from dishes to checks. And there weren't that many tables filled. But you know- you forgive that sort of thing. However, it was one apology after another. "He's new, I'm new, we only have one cook," and so on and so forth.
We finally got our food after a somewhat extended wait. I had ordered a shrimp po'boy. The roll for the sandwich was not exactly what you'd call fresh. It wasn't grilled or heated. There was some nice looking lettuce and tomato on it and a few dabbles of what was described as "our own Remoulade sauce." No worries. I threw the Louisiana hot sauce to it and tried one of the shrimp. It was way too salty and fried so hard that it was like trying to eat a piece of something chewy wrapped in asphalt.
Also, the thickness of the bread and the lack of moisture created a situation where it was impossible to take a bite of the entire thing. I ended up just discarding the bread entirely and eating the shrimp and lettuce and tomato like a pathetic salad.
Jessie got shrimp scampi and it had absolutely nothing to recommend it.
So when the lady server came by to ask us how things were, Jessie said, "Oh, okay," but I said, "The shrimp are over-salted and over-cooked."
I was not fucking around with that shit.
To her credit, she took my sandwich off the bill. I had been chewing steadily for at least fifteen minutes and had not managed to eat all the shrimp. And I told her- look- I'm eating it! You don't have to do that." And she said, "No. That's okay."
I was not sorry to see that plate go away.
And then we went off to Goodwill where we had a good time looking at stuff. Here's my nomination of "last thing I'd ever buy in a thrift store."
Jessie did get this.
"Whoa, August!" I said. "I'm so proud of you."
I was quickly informed that no, it was Levon's sign. August had not gotten all A's this semester.
"What you gonna do?" he asked, as he closed the car door.
Each to their own.