Trader Joe’s, where they ring a bell on your birthday and insist on carding you in spite of your graying hair. Such acts of mercy should not go unrewarded.
Blessings upon you and your joeys.
The make-up person at the MAC cosmetic counter, who nods and coos reassuringly when I lament that my life will never be the same now that MAC discontinued my favorite shade of lipstick.
How am I to cope without ‘Jist’ and its perfect blend of apricot, hint of peony and dash of frost?
I mean really; you want to tell me that life goes on after that? The make-up person understands, doesn’t judge and gently dabs my tears with Kleenex. He then proceeds to meld Ramblin’ Rose with Shimmer Bronze.
Close? Close Enough. All is well.
May your mascara never clump and the glue not fall away from your false lashes.
Peanut butter filled pretzels nuggets.
So cute, so compact; where else can you savor salty and saltier in just one bite? To heck with the bloating that puffs your lids and swells your fingers for days.
Kindly pretzel maker, whoever you are, wherever you are, I salute you.
My web designer, or as I respectfully refer to her, my web therapist, Debbie. She acknowledges my computer deficiencies, and never looks down her screen at me. She patiently encourages me to explore the computer like an inquisitive child, even when I rant, kick, and pout and should be sent to my room.
May your hard drive never sag and your SPAM be served only with eggs.
Real ice cream. Not frozen yogurt, not Pinkbery, not ice milk.
REAL. ICE. CREAM. In a cone. One lick and you’re transported back to your youth, when a trip to the ice cream parlor produced giggles and bliss. Brown bonnets, sundaes, on sugar or wafer cones, there was nothing not wonderful about real ice cream.
I remember hearing about an acquaintance, let’s call him Charley, who earned the reputation of being a notorious tightwad. He inherited this trait from his father, a hugely successful business man. In spite of his family’s great wealth, Charley pinched pennies as much for habit as for sport. One steamy summer day, young Charley sauntered up to the counter at Friendly’s Ice Cream.
“What’ll it be, kid?” asked the server. Charley scanned the list of flavors and sheepishly asked, “Cones free?”
“Yup,” replied the server.
“Jimmies free?” Charley ventured.
“Yup,” the server repeated.
“Great”, exclaimed a delighted Charley; “I’ll have a cone full of jimmies.”
To the patrons and patron saints of Friendly’s, Carvel and the defunct Pat Mitchell’s Homemade Ice Cream in Endicott, New York: may your lives be filled with double scoops, soft serves and extra whipped cream. May your brain freeze pass without incident, and the calories you consume evaporate in the summer sun.