We were not disappointed.
Psychic! declared the sign. Katie looked at it, then at me, one expressive eyebrow raised.
"Why not?" I said. "We've always said we were going to go to one, and we never, ever have."
So we make our way into the building, and a Brand New Experience.
Katie goes first, so I sit in the lobby, creating doodles and flipping through a book on back health. About twenty minutes later she comes out, and it's my turn.
All I've signed up for is the basic palm-reading. I read my own tarot cards, and I know I will not be able to keep my mouth shut if she tries to tell me something they're not actually saying. I may be skeptical, but I have enough sense of fun (and hope) to go in with a playful spirit. At the very least I'm hoping to be wowed by her powers of subtle observation.
Alas, it is not to be. Even though I gamely feed her plenty of information about myself for her to turn into mystical revelations, she sticks with the basics- and they feel like rote basics, at that. The only time she seems to go off the prompts cards playing on her eyelids is when she tells me that I will be a mother- to two healthy babies, no less. (Query: can I get my money back when I hit menopause if I'm still child-free?)
Afterwards Katie and I head over to the Blue Moon to compare notes on our fate. We laugh hysterically over the aspects that we have word-for-word in common, and agree that we'd make much better psychics than that.
I had lamb burgers on butter lettuce for dinner tonight, and for dessert I tried my hand at making coconut butter.
|It's hard to make a jar of white stuff look like... anything other than a jar of white stuff.|
It's mighty tasty on it's own, but I also dipped a strawberry in it (really good), and then got crazy and dipped a carrot in it (even better). Next time I may try Melissa Joulwan's recipe.