Said good friend does not want to be in my blog. "I don't like people knowing where I am or what I'm doing."
So this time I'll call good friend Q.
When Q visits (a few times a year), it's always an event. Even when we choose to do nothing (which is rare), being with her is like being on vacation. It's an escape from the usual, and always punctuated with laughs and great conversation.
Q arrives around three. And by 3:15 we are getting joint manicures and pedicures. The inexpensive salon next door is convenient, and passes my friend's critical eye and high cleanliness standard. Q asks the manicurist if the tools are sterilized and gets the response she wants, despite no proof.
We decide on an early dinner (both of us having skipped lunch) and choose Avra, a midtown Greek restaurant that is outrageously good.
We eat outside. Our dining neighbors include a screeching 3-year old whose father attempts to calm her, and whose mother looks at her with annoyance. And a middle-aged couple who dine their entire meal without a single word exchanged between them.
The food is fresh and amazing. The Greek salad we split has no lettuce (which I love) and lots of big, red, beautiful tomatoes. We both get entrees of the jumbo grilled shrimp and my side is grilled vegetables. It's as good as it looks.
We split a big bowl of yogurt and honey for dessert. The yogurt tastes nothing like the inferior stuff sold in markets.
We are home early. Watch some TV. Talk some. And are in bed reading before the evening news.
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