I Don't Like Monday

In a nod to Bob Geldof, I don't like Mondays.  Not my A day of the week.  I think it is because the dream is over and I am back at the grind living by someone else's rules.  Today at work was the usual mundane stuff that just wears me down.  Once I was out the door at 5:15 the night was mine and things improved.  I improved.

I had dinner with a good friend and as always it was a good time.  We ate at Lulu's Seafood Restaurant  (http://www.luluseafood.com/) in University City.  Tonight the dinner was capped by the most awesome fortunes in my cookie.  I was so lucky I ended up with two fortunes.

My Monday was obviously looking better and with fortunes like these, I was smiling all the way to my car. 

Immediately, my fortunes started coming true.  My friend gave me a new pair of size 7 knitting needles and a hug before we said good-bye.  I stopped by another friends house on the way home and she gave me a gift she had seen on vacation and knew it had to be mine.  As soon as I saw the satin and sequined flamingo box, I was so touched.   Finally, the sweetest thank you card was waiting for me when I walked in the door.  So much good fortune on a Monday night might make me reassess my opinion on Monday, sorry Bob.

The Letter

Dear Friends,

My fortune cookie tonight read, "You have a charming way with words.  Write a letter this week."  The advice of a cookie seemed like a reason to write a small missive to you.  I feel cookies don't lie.  I say that to you and then I remember that I did have a cookie lie to me once.

A sad tale of losing cookie confidence that has marked me as a person who will in fact spit out a cookie in front of a room full of people.  So let me begin with once upon a knit night I showed up at my usual tardy, last half hour.  Now the women and men I knit with are some awesome bakers.  If I see a plastic container on a table with napkins, I know goodness is to be had.  On the table was just such a container and some of the most perfect looking snicker doodles I have ever seen.  My inner cookie monster was about to put her face into the container and eat some cookies.  I waited, was polite, and took only one.  Cookie conversation swirled around me as a generous bite settled on my tongue.

Okay, there is something you should know, I really don't like most tropical fruits.  The most heinous of the bunch is bananas followed closely by pineapples.  I don't even like the smell of either of those fruits.  It may be a character flaw, but I will not deny my abhorrence of these things.  This truth revealed, I sat there with a mouth full of pineapple flavored cookie growing in my mouth.  Talking around the cookie, I asked the room, "Whaa kinda cooookie is this?"

"Pineapple cake batter," the proud baker said.

The group must have registered the complete look of disgust on my face, because a chorus of, "Just spit it out." went around the room. 

I felt bad,  but I just could not bring myself to swallow.  With a mumbled "Esqoose me," I spit the cookie into the napkin and ran from the room to get a drink of something to wash the horrid taste of pineapple out of my mouth.

The moral of this story is always ask before biting into any cookie, pineapple cake batter could be hidden in even the most delicious looking morsel.  The moral could also be forget the fortune, this letter is not charming. Or maybe the moral is skip the fortune and stick with the lottery numbers on the back (2 7 22 33 46 47).

Sincerely,

Tempesttea