Confessions of a Dark Princess

I will write as I am waiting for Princess to call. She is getting her hair done in R.O. and it is the only time she comes to town, so we'll go out. Getting her hair done takes two to two and a half hours and the last time I went early and then had to stand in the salon and wait. I don't like waiting . . . and I don't like "salons" particularly, and this one is a very, very small, exclusive one, so I kept feeling like a needed some air. I am toying with the idea of going to coffee though.

So as it turns out, sewing is not as easy as one would think. I watched my mother do it for years and she always made it look easy. My sewing? There is swearing. And lots of trips to the internet to look up terms because the pattern will just say "GATHER" without telling you how to gather. You will need to baste in three rows in order to gather and make sure that you pull the bobbin string gently. Just the bobbin string. And you will need to look up baste in order to do it three times. Of course, the internet does not roll her eyes and look at you in the "you're such a disappointing daughter how did I produce someone with no domestic skills" when you ask it what baste means. Which makes me glad there is the internet. But the apron is done. It has rick-rack covering all the times I could not sew in a straight line. Sewing beats knitting in that way . . . can't put rick-rack on when you drop a stitch.

Oh, and my car? The tumblers in the lock assembly were jammed. The key wouldn't move, forward or back. Went in, bought some yogurt and a kefir smoothie, came back out and my key wouldn't move. So my brother drove 40 minutes, sat in the seat, spoke lovingly to it and it turned. He says we can build a new lock assembly this week. Sounds very exciting . . . like a puzzle. And now, I'm just driving around with a can of WD-40. And I have to clean out my car. And get it detailed. As penance.

And then there was the parking lot that I was stuck in. My father went to the Polish Market last week (in Troy, on Maple) and although they were a disappointment about the ham (my father likes Polish ham, sliced very thin, almost shaved, but not shaved . . . he is the Sally of ham . . . and he likes a certain brand, which they said they had, but didn't really have), the Polish Market was said to carry European yogurt in glass jars. Yum. Yogurt in glass jars with surprise flavors because you can't read the labels. Just like in France. S

o that was my quest of yesterday. And they did not have yogurt in glass jars. They had beet salad in glass jars. They had fish in seal-o-meal bags. They had chocolate that you can't find at the grocery store (kinder bars . . . mmmmm). And they had yogurt but not the selection that I was expecting. In Europe, entire aisles at the grocery store are devoted to yogurt . . . stacks and stacks of yogurt. At the Polish Market they had four kinds yesterday, but four kinds that I couldn't find at Meijer. And the stuff I bought has chocolate flakes and is the consistency of frosting. Which is good. Not as good as glass jars, but good. And now I know where to get shredded beets.

Okay, maybe I will go to coffee. Her hair is taking a long time, and I'm sick of waiting by the phone.