a wolf angel is not a good angel

I went to brunch with someone I was good friends with in high school (now living across the country) and her husband, which was really nice. (I went to a place I really like, which was remarkably unbusy, and had absolutely delicious food, better, I think, than usual. I made a reservation, which was tricky, because what do you think a restaurant called “Vaudeville” is called in the phone book? I don’t know, because I couldn’t find it, after checking under V, L (for Le Vaudeville), Restaurant Vaudeville, Restaurant Le Vaudeville, Cafe, etc. It’s like Where’s Waldo every time you look up a restaurant here.[1])

I had a really good time. I’m going to work on that “email” thing so we actually keep in touch. I don’t regret not going to the dinner part — anyways I have my spies who will tell me anything really interesting — but I would have regretted not seeing her. Luckily, no regret necessary! The only sad thing was that I had to move boxes instead of taking a walk on the mountain.

[1] Come on, you didn’t really think I could write a post without complaining, did you?

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