Picture it...a lovely morning in a beautiful, gated, golf course community, just north of Daytona Beach. Two spectacularly gorgeous women...though the elder of the pair can often be heard yelling words, muffled by her closed door, at her mirror, and constantly trying to feed the younger fruit...lounge by the pool drinking coffee and gossiping.
The elder says, "Let's go to St. Augustine for the afternoon. I'll take you to Harry's for your blackened chicken and pomegranate martinis..."
As, in case you hadn't guessed, I am the younger of these two women, and Mother knowing just how to manipulate me, adds, "After lunch we'll go to the wine tasting at San Sebastian."
"When do you want to leave, Mother," I query as I'm already getting dressed, because, really? If you've been to St. Augustine you understand.
Mother calls her bestie, who happens to be in town because she bought a house around the corner from Mother...sigh...and invites her along. Once she is ready, it's top down in the convertible...silk scarf in my hair, oversized sunglasses protecting my peepers, and we're in St. Augustine before I could finish the 3 text conversations I was having. Seated in the courtyard at Harry's enjoying ONE order of chicken, tho I can't say that about the pom-tinis (the amount, not the enjoyment), was bliss. We took a little apres-lunch stroll through St. Augustine's delightful and useless shopping district...of course I shopped...until I saw a sandwich board set up outside a charming little patisserie. It was bathed in light from the heavens and choirs of angels sang as I read the words scrawled on it proclaiming their daily special....a PEEP LATTE!!! As you can imagine, I nearly knocked over more than a few passers-by in my haste to obtain one of, what I can only describe now, having tasted it, these hot, steaming, cardboard cups filled with the nectar of the Gods! The barista was kind enough to serve me my 20, glorious, ounces of Peep latte with a flourish, making sure I got a good look before he condemned the wee Peep to it's a burial in a non-fat, 4 shot, toasted marshmallow latte. There he was...my bright pink Peep...floating on top!
I trotted off, swooning, behind Mother and her friend, towards the trolley to the Winery, only to be stopped en route by a man who was quite certain that I had been Miss Kentucky or Kansas or something a few years before and was completely unwilling to take no for an answer. I said something about "World Peace" and let him take a picture of us together. It seems I am quite a bit easier to get along with...which I can't fathom as I am SO charming even on my worst days...when I have had a delicious blackened chicken breast, a few pomegranate martinis, and Peep latte in me. I didn't even grumble (too much) when we had to (almost) run to make the trolley.
At the end of the trolley ride sits the San Sebastian Winery. Mother and I tried to pretend to pay attention to the tour...tasting please!!! The tour is over, the tasting begins and we start working our way through whites. To be fair, I suppose Mother and I could have tried to take it a little more seriously...but...well...we didn't. We get to, I don't know, maybe the third white, and wrinkle our noses. Her friend clearly didn't approve of our face-making. I lean over to Mother and whisper, "This tastes like something," with a look on my face that made it very clear that that something was NOT wine.
"I know. It's something familiar."
Her friend gave us a dirty look and sushed us...I react so well to such things.
"What is it, mom? This is driving me crazy! I can't place it!"
She takes another sip, swishing it around her mouth a while, considering it. "This tastes like shampoo!!!"
I nearly spit my shampoo wine everywhere other than intended bucket. Between fits of giggles we tried to explain to her friend that it tasted like that little bit of fruity scented shampoo that works it's way into your mouth while you're trying to rinse your hair. The more we tried to explain, the harder we laughed and the more annoyed her friend got.
We bought her a bottle on the way out...I am not her favourite person.
PS-Today's intended post was titled "My Cupcake Cost $1.75," but dear Margaret Page inspired me to share this story instead. Fret not, "My Cupcake Cost $1.75" will be posted tomorrow!