My birthday is this week so I decided to celebrate by doing all the things I love-eating and drinking -selectively and talking about it throughout the process of consumption, and discussing my next meal while enjoying the current. And in the process I was reminded about something I like about myself.
I appreciate food, and according to a friend, I’m a “super taster” a title I ran with.
I have a sensitive palate capable of plucking out ingredients with developed taste buds. I’m a finicky elitist when it comes to certain foods (including Mc Muffins for the category of “Breakfast Food Sandwiches, but Hardees Chicken Biscuit takes the prize) and not all items are judged as equals. (For example, I wouldn’t put Houston’s side salad up against Wendy’s, nor would I compare Junior’s cheesecake to Sara Lee’s.)
This said skill set also applies to times when I want something decadent like a scone or dessert sampler. I won’t settle for any old dry, crumbly scone from your local grocer, or random sweets off the shelves just for the sake of it. When I go to sugar town I visit the rich, yet simplistic neighborhoods. Basically, when I’m craving something I get really clear about my intentions and I’m not good about settling for substitutions. I’m plain childish about it and don’t hide my feelings, or opinions well.
I also like to plan activities for my birthday that way I get exactly what I want. By the way I talk and act you’d think I was raised rotten like a kid in some version of a Dante/ Willa Wonka hell for naughty kids. I’m not really that way, well kind of I am, but not because I was ever spoiled. If anything my attitude is more, “The world owes me the best foods because I was forced to eat canned salmon patties, Spam, and peanut butter for weeks.” Than, “The world owes me good food because that’s all I’ve ever known.” The philosophical meandering on the nature of my appetite isn’t really interesting so I’ll spare you for now.
For one of my birthday gifts to myself I took Susan to the St. Regis for “High Tea” on Sunday afternoon. I’m satisfied by the teatime experience for numerous reasons. I like sampling different foods with tiny bites I can eat with my hands with the majority of them being breads and sweets. I’m crazy about the classic champagne cocktail, and I like pretending to be civilized while sipping hot tea. It’s fun imaging I’m a thorough bred from a line of silent grey eyes, frowning crows feet and contempt for the ordinary.
While having our tea I announce to Susan, “Don’t even think this is all I’m eating. The food doesn’t stop here. I’m having a cheeseburger next.” She laughed through dimples, “Nobody thinks anything about the meal coming to an end.” Then she shook her head and said, “That’s just like you.” “What?” I said. “To want a cheeseburger after eating tea-sandwiches, scones, truffles, and chocolates.” “Oh and I want a strawberry flavored adult snow-cone.” (FYI, adult snow cones are shaved ice, vodka and flavored simple syrup.)
It was my birthday celebration and I wanted the best of everything. I had done my research and knew that the hotel had a “It’s good to be” poolside bar with frozen adult beverages and scrumptious burgers. I had the burger one night while dining at the indoor restaurant and knew this was the burger I wanted. I thought long and hard about it too. It was a tough decision and one with an obstacle to overcome. I discovered that the fancy pool bar is for hotel guests and residents only. I surmised from that statement that they don’t want riffraff like me accessorizing the poolside.
The waiter walked over, I gave my eyes and sweetest smile, “Hi. I favor to ask. Today is my birthday and I’d love to try one of those adult snow cones at the poolside bar. Do you think you could get us a table? I’m such a kid who loves snow cones.” He looked at me and said, “Yes Ms. I’ll see what I can do since it’s your birthday.” He came back with a tray of three homemade ice-cream cones and told me he’d escort us to the pool whenever we were ready.
Before we went the bar I stopped by the bathroom. It was like entering a cool marble cave. There were mirrors everywhere. I was alone and noticed my thighs weren’t touching when I walked. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but to me it was huge. It meant I was hydrated enough to keep the cellulite from bulging, and at my optimal weight. I’m what some fruit loving man termed, “pear” shaped, it means stem on top and juicy on the bottom. I lifted my dress and turned around to get the full view of my fruit tart and thought to myself. “I wonder if anyone else has ever come in here and pulled up her skirt to look at her ass?” The black and white marble became a house of sliming mirrors. I was satisfied enough with my image to move forward with the cheeseburger plan. I let the ends of my skirt drop and wondered what I would’ve said if someone walked in on me. “Um, hi I’m just checking, you? “
I think behaving badly in public bathrooms comes with the term, “bathroom” it’s where we do things. For example, when I walked into the extravagant water closet at the St. Regis I saw bodily fluids on the inner rim of the dual-flush marble mounted toilet seat. We can’t always hide who we really are. I still wanted a burger and snow cone even though I was at an expensive hotel enjoying English tea, champagne cocktails and ahi tuna. It’s who I am, and that person will always lift her skirt higher than anyone else I try to be.
At least at my worst I wipe the seat clean so happy birthday to me.