Advertisement
Archive for January, 2007
-
When my salad arrived I made a few perfect bites by shuffling through the greens and combining the best ingredients. I pushed the red onion (I was on a date) and croutons to the side and then I caught a crouton staring at me. He seemed saddened. I looked around and noticed that all the other croutons were feeling the same way. And that’s when I realized… the life of a crouton is not a glamorous one. -
I made tea last night. No big deal. I do it almost everyday. But this time something made me reach my boiling point. -
And this email from my mother would explain where my food obsession comes from. She’s so cute…Hello, Children!
Dad and I had a delicious dinner at the York Culinary Arts Center last night, thanks to the gift certificates you all gave me for my birthday! (It just took awhile for us to use them.) -

“Grapefruits are pretty.My heart warmed when I heard this comment come over the cubicle at work. My co-worker was eating a midmorning snack and she continued…
“I mean, the pink… and the yellow… and the white. They are just really pretty.
-
A bottle of locally made red wine and a pint of Chubby Hubby later we were dancing in my living room. Dancing quickly became jumping and jumping turned into phonebook surfing. -
www.westchesterdish.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/01/images-8.jpg” alt=”images-8.jpg” />One of my best friends came over tonight. I haven’t had the privilege of hanging out with him since last year. To celebrate we drove around town, listened to cheesy techno music and stopped at the grocery store to a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
A bottle of locally made red wine and a pint of Chubby Hubby later we were dancing in my living room. Dancing quickly became jumping and jumping turned into phonebook surfing.
What, you ask, is phonebook surfing? It’s when you put on music really loud and with bellies full of ice cream, you place a phone book in the middle of the room and run and jump on the phone book …
-
It’s rare that my only (so I easily say favorite) niece Emma comes to West Chester. When she is in town, it’s all about great food. (I know, I know, when is it NOT about food?) But “great food” has a slightly different definition from the perspective of a seven-year-old. (I’m sorry… “almost eight-year-old.”) So I try to adjust. Which isn’t hard.
