The Best Friend and I ended up at that adorable Italian café tonight. Between the breadbasket and pint of sweet tea, we would have been quite satiated. But the sirloin was so tempting and the fried cheesecake so sensual that we gave in. It was a delicious stumble.
We rented Mansfield Park and spent a few hours whispering of how we wished we could swish around in those gorgeous gowns.
If the hour wasn’t so late, and my cup not empty of Ice Cold Water (one must always have a cup of Ice Cold Water beside the bed at night- to throw on unsuspecting burglars, to dash upon oneself after a horrid nightmare, or to dash to the floor after sending a pillow through the air), and my fingers raw from guitar strings, I’d share why Mansfield Park reminds me of what a real man is. Another night then.