Yesterday, I had a meeting in Lancaster, PA which was just fine with me because some of my very dearest friends live in Lancaster. And so Tuesday after my mani-pedi [I feel so posh saying that. Like it’s something I do all the time instead of NEVER unless I’m in a wedding. What’s next? Tuesday after the maid finished polishing my Lexus outside of my villa in Tuscany…], I hopped into my car and drove five hours to Amish country.
Y’all. EVEN THE AMISH HAVE CHICK-FIL-A. It’s like, electricity or no electricity, crack-chicken gets us all in the end. Chick-fil-a is the great unifier, bridging cultures and generations. Hallelujah.
I had the best time! Can we all just take a minute to be thankful for the people in our lives who love us without a single unless? Even when we show up on their doorstep wearing yoga pants and asking what’s for dinner? Ash and Dan are those people. Sitting in the kitchen while Ash made quiche [HELLO Susie-Homemaker!], I asked what I could do to be helpful. Dan looked at me, and said:
You can tell me white or red.
White. Oh, and I’m moving in.
Ash and I spent the evening at a local Amish market, and it took all of two and a half minutes for me to become all buy local. But seriously, when the cute little bearded Amish farmer is throwing in extra asparagus when you only paid two dollars to begin with, you can’t help but fall in love! Also, this:
Glass cat figurines. Making houses homes since 1857.
I drove the five hours back yesterday, got home around dinner time and collapsed onto my bed in an exhausted heap. Two hours later, Kellan woke me up looking hungry, which personally I thought was rather high-maintenance given that we had eggs AND beer in the fridge.
I told him I was too tired to so much as scramble an egg, which we all know translates to DINNER OUT FOR THE DICKENS. We went to IHOP; an unfortunate life decision that I regretted before I’d even ordered. If restaurants could speak, IHOP would flop on the couch with a mug full of ice cubes and boxed wine, and disgustedly mutter I give up.
We came home, and I promptly fell asleep again because chocolate chip pancakes make you feel like a wayward can of biscuit dough that got left in a hot car and exploded all over the trunk. If you need me, I’m spending this morning reevaluating my life choices, and introducing myself to the treadmill downstairs.