Counting the Minutes

Yesterday it took me 58 minutes to get from the Pro Club in Bellevue to our place on my motorcycle - really bad traffic day. I know this because every time I start my motorcycle the clock starts counting the minutes. It is not supposed to do this. It is also not supposed to re-set the trip odometer to exactly 100 miles every time I start the bike. This is a bit of a problem because, like most motorcycles, mine does not have a gas gauge - it does have a low fuel light - unlike my last one - but I still am not sure when it will come on because I have no idea how far I have ridden since I last filled the tank. I think I will get this fixed soon.

45 minutes after I arrived home I departed in a swanky black dress, stockings and heels and walked down to the Starbucks to pick up John. On the way a car full of guys yelled and hooted at me and another guy on the sidewalk told me I was sexual harassment and then made noises after I had passed, and a couple of oh babys. I looked pretty good I think. I picked John up and we went to El Gaucho and sat in the bar for red wine and steak sandwiches. I was a brilliant evening. They actually have a "Feeling decadent" cocktail section in the menu in which the cocktails - for a SINGLE DRINK are between $100 and $450. Swanky indeed.