Last night I returned from a five day hiatus from the following: reliable cell service, a computer, Starbucks and cable. After spending a long weekend visiting my Grandparents in Montana you would think I wouldn’t come back with much to tell — oh but how you’re wrong.
As mentioned above, my vacation lacked many of my favorites. Luckily, coffee is a staple for everyone not just the caffeine-addict that is rolling through town looking for a fix. Though she loves to cook, Grandma also likes to go to the Oasis, a cafe/bar/casino-type establishment. Why? Though their coffee is more expensive than at McDonalds, 75¢ versus 50¢, they have delicious cinnamon rolls. (Even if they are previously frozen, she pretends not to care.)
Yes – you did read that correctly. Drip coffee costs less than ONE DOLLAR. I can’t figure out how they are making money. Or, maybe now I understand more clearly why Starbucks is a multi-billion dollar coffee pushing machine.
Though I do enjoy oodles of butter and sugar oozing down golden brown, cinnamony goodness, I was in the mood for an actual meal the morning Grandma and I decided to visit the Oasis. She was as well, and without even holding a menu ordered the senior portion of your standard diner breakfast: eggs, hasbrowns, toast and your choice of various meats. After she ordered, my conversation with the waitress was as follows:
Me: That sounds good. I’ll have the same, but you know, the regular size non-senior portion. ::awkward chuckle:: two eggs…
Waitress: You got it.
She turns to walk away..
Waitress: Eatin’ for two.
I quickly looked around, hoping someone else heard her. Then immediately looked down at my (empty) stomach. Confused, my Grandmother seemed oblivious of the waitress’s comment of me having a cinnamon bun in MY oven. I didn’t even have a loose shirt on.
The same evening after cautiously loading my dinner plate, and guffawing with my extended family about the above comment, I headed up to my good friend M’s house. She happened to be in town, as was her older sister and adorable nephew — whom I had never met.
M’s dad stocks their house worthy of a Seattle bar. After a few glasses of wine, followed by a couple Greyhounds and enough hot tubbing to make me the fifth member of the Raisinets it was agreed that M and I should have a sleepover. After assuring Grandma that I would be home by 8 am for an intense bonding session, we mixed another and headed back to the hot tub.
As promised, I was home before 8…and locked out. It was reminiscent of losing your dorm keys after a walk of shame across campus, being forced to wait for someone (who was clean and showered) leaving before seeking refuge inside.
Oh the wrath that is a Grandmother. Once she opened the door, scowling, she busied herself. During this time I took the opportunity to sneak downstairs and try to catch a few extra z’s. Really I blame the hot tub. It was dehydrating, I would have felt just fine otherwise. (Yeah, right.) It didn’t take long for her to sleuth me out.
The light didn’t stun my eyes immediately, as I’d pulled a blanket over my head, but after she whipped it back I can’t say I was entirely surprised. As I turned over to meet her glare, she smacked me on the leg and snapped, “Get up. No more sleeping. You wouldn’t be so tired if you weren’t out all night whoring around.”
I am not sure if she was in cahoots with the waitress, however I hope they both know one can’t get pregnant in a hot tub with another female. Otherwise someone gave them a very skewed version of the birds and the bees.