8:30am: Bleurgh. Need coffee. Need Einstein’s vanilla coffee. GET OUT OF THE WAY, PEOPLE IN LINE WHO WANT THREE DOZEN BAGELS OF EVERY DIFFERENT TYPE AND FLAVOR, HALF OF THEM TOASTED, HALF OF THEM SLICED, AND 18 TUBS OF REDUCED-FAT HONEY ALMOND SPREAD. I hate you all.
9:30am: Feeling better now, with coffee. At Midtown Farmers Market; think I’ll buy some leeks. Ooh! What are those? Saris? Those aren’t food, but they’re PRETTY and SHINY.
9:45am: Still leek-less, but proud owner of one silk skirt/dress/pretty piece of silk that can be tied in a million different ways. Want to put it on now! Must wait…public nudity is bad.
10:00am: Please don’t feed me any more of your homemade Indian food, lady with cute baby! I came here for cheese and cheese only, but your Indian food is so good that I’m afraid I’ll blow my entire day’s shopping allowance on tubs of chutney and tikka masala.
10:15am: Made it past Indian food table and on to cheese table, with brief pit stop at delicious bread table. No bread! Do not need bread! Which cheese to choose?
10:45am: It’s I’ve Got The Munchies and his wife at the Farmers Market! Hello, friends!
11:00am: Breakfast tacos at Tacos A Go-Go with mom and grandmother. Chorizo and egg tacos for me, huevos rancheros for mom, world’s tiniest potato and egg taco for world’s tiniest grandmother, who is too distracted by the neon lights and giant Virgen de Guadalupe to eat.
11:30am: It’s I’ve Got The Munchies and his wife at Tacos A Go-Go! I have the coolest stalkers.
12:00pm: Eating my tub of chevre in the car with my fingers. DON’T JUDGE ME.
1:00 pm: The Red Lion for mid-afternoon drinks. Glass of cabernet for me, pint of Stella for mom, world’s tiniest half-pint of Blue Moon with orange slice for world’s tiniest grandmother.
1:30pm: Still in the pub, watching a five-year-old match between FC Barcelona and Murcia on FSC (why am I watching this? why are they showing matches from 2003 today? why am I fascinated by this?), while surreptitiously eating more goat cheese under the table with my fingers.
2:00pm: Driving to the Village; tub of chevre mostly empty now. Very sad. But still have shiny skirt/dress and other cheese to look forward to!
2:15pm: At The British Isles, favorite food shop in The Village. Buying meat pies, Bisto, Wagon Wheels, Jammy Dodgers, Walker’s crisps (Worcester Sauce and Prawn Cocktail!) and Hula Hoops for Richard.
2:30pm: Realize that remaining goat cheese needs to be refrigerated sometime soon, as do meat pies. Head home.
2:45pm: Eat packet of Worcester Sauce crisps in car. Attempt to share with mom and grandmother, who are not impressed.
2:50pm: Eat Wagon Wheel in car. Attempt at sharing Wagon Wheel much more well-received, as it tastes almost exactly like a Moon Pie. Wrench remaining crumbs of Wagon Wheel away from older, vicious female relatives.
3:00pm: Arrive home. Share bounty with Richard, who is as unimpressed with the goat cheese as the female relatives were with the crisps. Excited because goat cheese is ALL MINE.
3:30pm: Prance around house in new skirt/dress. Richard annoyed.
4:00pm: Leave house in new skirt/dress to take pictures for Houstonist article. Find a pond full of very tiny, very fuzzy baby ducks and — strangely — vultures. Vultures don’t seem to be bothering ducks.
4:45pm: Race home to get Richard, to drag him out to baby-duck-filled pond. Grab loaf of bread out of pantry to feed to ducks.
5:15pm: Back at duck pond, feeding ducks. Vultures watch from a distance. Slightly eerie, but balanced by plethora of fuzzy, bread-eating cuteness. Richard annoyed that bread is going to feed ducks instead of him; wants to go home.
6:00 pm: Back home. Beer and goat cheese and crackers and Psycho. Saturday evening is decidedly low-key yet awesome.