After voting last Tuesday, I walked Tommy around Caltech and pondered what to eat (food often occupies my thoughts on these lengthy walks).
“Mmmm... That pint of vanilla Haagen-Dazs in the freezer would go great with warm apple pie.”
I turned down California Blvd toward Pie ‘n Burger.
I don’t like leaving Tommy outside tied to a post, but I’ll do it when I'm desperate and I’m comfortable with the neighborhood; a window gives me a line of sight to keep an eye on him; and it will only take a few minutes. Fortunately Pie ‘n Burger fit the bill.
While I discussed pie options with the waitress, Tommy waited patiently outside. (Well, actually, at first he was quite impatient: he barked and rose up in protest—an unnerving sight for the other patrons—but then he settled down.) I bought pieces of apple and boysenberry, retrieved Tommy, and then headed up Lake to make a loop back to my car.
I peeked inside Magnolia and felt a pang of longing when I saw a good crowd inside. A couple of women in strappy dresses sipped cocktails at the bar, and, I imagined, flirted with interesting men. The vibe looked relaxed, just my kind of place. I've lived in Pasadena over two years but I've never been there. Wouldn't it be nice to be sitting at that bar all squeaky clean, wearing a summer dress and heels? Drinking a ginger-cucumber-watermelon martini and hanging out with my own species, preferably of the opposite sex?
In my worn sneakers and baggy hiking pants, I carried my bag of pie up Lake, the pit bull at my side.
I used to aspire to be a screenwriter, to get married and have a baby. Instead I ended up single without kids, writing a blog about my rescued pit bull. How’d that happen?