Thursday, December 2, 2010

The Typical Drill

We woke up this morning to a crash: someone had jumped onto the kitchen counter and "turtled" a tin of pecan turtles. No witnesses, no suspects (except for the usual one, Snalbert). Fortunately the tin stayed sealed, so we still have plenty of chocolate leftovers from Monday's class.

I had a dentist appointment this morning, unrelated to chocolate consumption. I've needed a crown and a small filling for awhile. Whenever my dentist and I are waiting around for the novocaine to work, or whatever, we chatter about real estate. He and his wife are looking in the same neighborhoods as we are, in the same price range. We've both been looking for the same amount of time. And, of course, we both want the same kind of condo or little house with outdoor space. All through my appointments, we swap addresses and commentary on places we've recently seen. We've both seen everything, everywhere, and we tend to have the same detailed opinions. It's uncanny; it's also strange that we never run into each other at open houses. Today, he saved me from checking out a house on Piedmont Street. He says it's a disaster and I trust him. I spared him from looking on Dartmouth Street.

We realize that we're all going to fall in love with the same place someday and end up in a bidding war. Maybe we should just move in together. We seem awfully compatible. 

On the other hand, he's pretty loud when he sings falsetto accompaniment to '50's rock 'n roll on Pandora.  

On the other hand, so am I.

I'm usually relaxed in the dentist's chair. But there's a certain kind of drilling that feels like it's attacking my brain. If I don't keep my eyes open, I feel like I'm flying around the room as my brain rattles in my skull. When it's over, I'm dizzy and shaken. My dentist had to drill my temporary crown off my tooth in chunks. It took a long time. Then he drilled my cavity. After that ordeal, I decided I was too fragile to survive pushups and planks in gym class. My numbed face and I went for walk instead.

I saw this blooming bush in front of a building on Clarendon Street. Roses in December, and they're going strong.

Here's a shot of workmen repairing Newbury Street after this morning's water-main break. "One more reason never to live in a basement," said my dentist, and I wholeheartedly agreed. But the strange thing was that the whole block smelled strongly of breakfast. I have no idea why; did the street buckle and reveal a vein of piping-hot hash browns? It was too late for the workmen to be having their second breakfast from one of the traveling "roach coaches." They do that closer to 9:30. It was also too early for lunch. Given all the renovation work in the neighborhood, I am intimate with construction workers' schedules.

I nipped into Anthropologie because a certain woolly cardigan I've had my eye on had gone on sale. I chose a green one for a Christmas present and a purply one for me. Mine needs some simple sewing on a sleeve, and so I got an even deeper discount. I'm almost sure I can do this repair without accidentally sewing the sweater to my own clothing; I've done that — while re-attaching a button. Here's the sweater; it's got intricate cabling and two strategically placed side-tails that minimize hips:


I came home and found Possum and Wendy napping together. They had the right idea. Doesn't Possy look adorable? He has devastating charm even when sound asleep. I'm besotted, I know.

The anesthetic wore off in time for me to attend a little dinner party with some new friends. I had dry-aged steak with lobster mashed potatoes. Dessert was puff-pastry filled with warm chocolate ganache, on a plate drizzled with butterscotch. I'd better aim to walk 12,000 steps tomorrow.

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