7:10 AM |
If you have a father over sixty or so, you will have a regular meal schedule. At each meal, he will need to know where and when the next meal is. This is hell. I have to eat so much I can’t move. Skipped breakfast as father had not arrived yet. Had teeny tiny salad for lunch (and I am not a salad person) and teeny tiny dessert in a shot glass. Four o’clock went for surreptitious chocolate cake run with son. There is a crunch chocolate cake at The Plantation that will almost make me forgive them for being a shitty hotel. They serve it at all over the resort but the ersatz general store place has them in the deli case. We have been known to take it to go at all hours. I insisted that we sit to eat it this time. This cake is basically a mousse encased in a really great stiff smooth chocolate icing with a hazelnut meringue underneath. It is heaven. You must come to Amelia Island just for the crunch chocolate cake alone.
Prepared for dinner at restaurant called Salt. Put on stretchy black cocktail dress to accommodate meal. What is it with salt? For a number of years now, there has been an obsession with salt from Hawaii, salt from the Dead Sea, sea salt (not the same thing), flavored salt, pink salt, grey salt. There is even a book about the history of salt. Isn’t it enough that we have something with which to preserve our cod? Our doctors tell us to avoid salt. Now there are salt ashtrays, salt lamps, salt bowls and salt votive holders. And salted caramels. Now that I get. A salted caramel is like having your grandmother’s cookies at the beach. A salted caramel is like a good margarita (which you should never drink without salt or frozen). A salted caramel is the one you get from your little boy’s pocket. At the Salt restaurant in the Ritz, they give all the ladies a little plexiglass box of salt to take home. I still have mine from last year. Note to self: put pink salt on microwaved green beans.
Today was preview day at Gooding’s, the automobile auction house. I talked them into giving me four passes to the auction as well as neon green armbands for the cocktail parties. And the $100 catalog for free. The assortment of cars, however, is a bit disappointing. I checked out the 3-litre Bentley I was interested in, but is has a loooooong chassis, and is not a speedster. And the body maker is Gurney Nutting. I prefer Vanden Plas. Swoopier. Decided to buy one we already knew about. Sold two weeks ago. Nuts. Maybe a sign that I should by the Ghost instead.
I really want to tour again. I just like Woody. There is a woody convertible here that is pretty sexy. Checked similar one on eBay. $80,000 difference. What am I missing? I am missing that I already have Woody, and I love him very much. I’m not the cheatin’ kind. 
There is also a VW bus, although it’s not a bus. It is a dual cab pickup. Cool. 
Texted almost-real imaginary boyfriend asking if he was here. Where? Amelia. Was there yesterday dropping off my car. What car are you selling? Yellow Corvette. It’s perfect. Just looked at it ten minutes ago. Are you coming this weekend? Don’t know. Will find out tomorrow. Well, that whole exchange made me feel like the most desired woman in the world. Here I am 3 ½ hours away and he doesn’t know if he’s coming. Note to self: stop buying expensive lingerie.
Speaking of lingerie, I just read a series of articles in New York magazine about porn. It turns out that there is a big niche in older woman MILF (mothers I’d like to fuck) stuff. Aha! That’s the deal with my man-child. There is a niche in, well, me! Note to self: keep expensive lingerie.