Witches and diver scallops
Yesterday I knew it was going to be a glorious weekend when the first thing I did Saturday morning, after a night of restless, troubled, broken sleep, was to break an irreplaceable tea dish.
Last night, while I was cutting open packages of goat cheese for a cheese-and-crackers orgy, I also cut a good-sized divot in my left ring fingertip–using children’s safety scissors. Who knew they would be so effective? On the plus side, I’d just bought antibiotic bandages. Perhaps I knew . . .
In between incidents, J. was kind enough to come over and drive me to Whole Foods. He was excited about getting the “softball-sized” diver scallops he’d reluctantly passed on last week.
I said, jokingly, “Wouldn’t it be funny if Whole Foods didn’t have any left?” He laughed.
Guess what? They were sold out of diver scallops.
I joked about it in the car. J., who’d also been disappointed that a café he had wanted to go to had been closed due to earlier winter hours, said, “Maybe you’re a witch.”
Not likely, because if I were I could find far more productive use for power than to deprive J. of a few diver scallops.
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