I had one of those weeks that make you want to be a kid again. I seriously wanted to go home and let my mom take care of me for a couple of days. I can’t put my finger on what it was, but I haven’t been able to shake this feeling.
Smack in the middle of my weird week, I blew off a date with Mr. Perfect. That’s never a good sign at the beginning of a relationship. I haven’t heard from him since. Strangely, I don’t even care. That’s not a good sign either.
Went to Einstein’s Bagels with Lily this morning. Or was it afternoon? I love the “fall back” phase of daylight savings, but I’m always a bit discombobulated for a week or so after the change.
Anyway, we ended up waiting in line for half-an-hour for bagels. Insane. At least everyone was in a good mood. Lily tells me we should have called in the order, since it’s always this busy here.
“You know,” I say, “This is practically an untapped market, if it’s always this busy here on Sundays.”
“Well, yeah,” she says. “There’s no place to go for breakfast in South Tampa except the Village Inn, Perkins, or IHOP.”
So, we start brainstorming our business venture. I want a coffee shop bookstore that’s open for the morning and lunch crowd, and she wants a place that serves a full breakfast on Sundays. We compromised by agreeing on a coffee shop bookstore that serves a Sunday brunch.
I’ve always wanted a place like that. One of my aunts and I seriously looked at doing it in Melbourne about ten years ago. After some discussion, though, she’d decided to put off her retirement, and I wasn’t prepared to take the risk. My job pays too well.
Lily and I get back to her place and her mother and stepfather are there. We chitchat for a while over coffee. And her mother brings up an opportunity to help the local university’s library organize a recent acquisition. I’m going to call the people in charge and volunteer once I’m done with this outreach project at work.
I end up spending my Sunday working and cleaning. I half watched the old, old version of that movie “Love Affair” while I was doing laundry. Sundays are my favorite day of the week. They’re so mellow.
I finally made it to the grocery store in the evening with a mad craving for bread pudding. Comfort food, I guess. I check the deli without success but finally find premade bread pudding in the bakery in one of those tins that I figure will be fine once I’ve heated it up and applied a liberal topping of whipped cream. While I’m walking around the store, Jefferson Starship’s “Runaway” comes on the store’s sound system. It’s a good Sunday, hanging out reading the paper song. It’s one of the songs that remind me of my childhood, and it makes me want my mother even more.
Is it too late to chuck it all and move back in with my parents?