Hola, Lector. ¿Qué hay de nuevo?
Yep. I picked Spanish Alarm Clock over Morning Walk after Day 3. Or it might have been Day 2, who’s keeping track. No one, Reader, that’s who.
I did manage to keep up the ol’ walking routine for about four days of that first week, but I quickly and very – very – easily slid back into letting Evening Girl do the walking while Morning Me slept in. And that quickly turned into, “Let’s just go get some dinner and watch t.v., Evening Girl is tired.” Or cansado, as I’ve learned from Spanish Alarm clock.
The true loser in this story is…well, no one is actually winning or losing, I’m the only player in this game, and I’m okay with it, so I guess there is no true loser. I had hoped, er, well, thought about maybe trying to get ship-shape before my next cruise, which is coming up shortly, but that’s not going to happen. Probably not anyway. Most likely not. So instead I’ve done what I do best, which is eat cake. A lot lot lot of cake. Because I’m really good at that, and they say do what you love and the rest will fall into place, and I love eating cake. I’m waiting for “the rest” to do it’s part.
In fact, we and some friends were down in Amish Country, hoping to go to a hot air balloon festival which didn’t pan out because everyone else in the entire state had the same idea, and we were getting there around 3 p.m. and, well, that was too late. The website led us down the wrong path. It said to get there later in the afternoon, which I thought was the perfect sort of Saturday afternoon festival for me because then I could keep my ass in bed even longer that morning. But it was not a good plan, as all parking was g.o.n.e.
Ever resilient when plans are wayward, we decided to just go eat. And that’s where we spied this little number in the bakery window, and my friendie and I made a plan that it was going home with us. Because it’s somebody’s birthday somewhere, and it would be plain rude to not celebrate it with this cake.
We are a lot of things, Reader, but we are not rude where cake is concerned. So we bought it and brought it home and sang “Happy Birthday, Someone,” and ate cake.
Was it as good as it looked?
Do you even have to ask, Reader? Really? Look at it. Of course it’s going to be delicious. Of course it is. Love must have been stirred into the batter, because I could taste it. Vanilla-y love.
So what have we learned here tonight, Reader, in this quick moment we’ve spent together?
Well, first, I’m doing a horrible job of keeping you up-to-date on my very important life. I apologize. And you’re welcome, because you’ll never get these minutes back, and you could be doing something really good with those minutes. But probably not, you’d probably just be watching t.v., or checking Facebook, so therefore I will continue to fill your minutes with nonsense.
Second, it doesn’t make me lazy to only last a week with my walking routine. It makes me bilingual.
Lastly, be flexible with your plans. You never know when that fork in the road has a piece of cake on the end.