Breakfasts

Today has been incredibly productive for a Saturday. Craig (left undescribed as of yet: he is my boyfriend and roommate and best friend in the world) left for work around 5.30 (after closing himself in the bathroom without turning off the alarm, thereby leaving me to punch snooze when it blasted some Soundgarden song at 5.06 seeing as I don't know how to shut the alarm off...not impossible to learn, I'm sure, yet he always takes care of it, so why bother?) and I continued to sleep for several more hours. No Saturday morning breakfast for us. He rarely works Saturdays but this morning was an exception and I wasn't about to make our usual morning fare without him around to help me consume it. When I woke up in the 9 range, I decided to clean the apartment until so inclined to gear up for the apartment pool. Our apartment pool is notably pretty, surrounded by lush foliage and blooms of kinds and with a fountain or two...in addition, the deck is large, which is nice for nice mornings/afternoons when all the college kids arrive with their coolers of Bud Light and cell phones and fish stories of how drunk they got at Buckhead Saloon the night before. Buckhead Saloon must be the hot spot; I hear of it frequently when I go to the pool. Anyway, I didn't stay long. Craig wanted lunch so I came home, then he went to be fitted for his tux for his sister's wedding in October and I struck up laundry and finished cleaning the apartment.*We have been to Montreal twice, the second time because we loved it so well the first time. First time around I professed to be some sort of bilingual intellect (having taken French, you know, through high school and twice in college, all required) but when we rolled into Quebec, road signs broadcasted things that I couldn't translate. And when we sat down for our first dinner out, after checking into the B&B, I wasn't able to ask, as recommended by tour books, "Parlez vous-anglais?" It was like a quick case of stage fright. Craig deftly stepped in for me, mispronouncing it to sound like "parlay vou ahn glay?" No "zzz." Hey, at least he tried. The joint we found for good breakfast in Montreal is called, simply, "Cafeteria." We loved it so well first time around, too, that two years later when we returned, we gave them our business again. And were even served by the same adorable French-Canadian waiter.*Tonight, a trip to the grocery, some dinner, wine, and beer for tomorrow's adventure with the R's on their boat. Hopefully a good dose of Atlanta sunshine.