This past weekend John and I celebrated the sale (finally) of our home in South Carolina by visiting one of our favorite cities: Atlanta – or if you are cool- the ATL. (I am not).
We- or more accurately, I- planned a full day of shopping before meeting up with my close friend, Susan, for dinner, followed by attending a fundraiser headlined by her brother’s band.
First, I must focus on the shopping.
I had a gift certificate to White House/Black Market, which has been burning a hole in my sweatpants since it was received. If you have not visited this store, I have to tell you that they are not kidding about the black and white part; the clothing is either black or it is white. They mean it.
I joyfully entered the store, waving my certificate in the air, ready to attack the racks of clothing with energy similar to the Tasmanian Devil hyped up on estrogen and Red Bull. Sweet John sat in a designated “man chair” while I tried on not only items that I had chosen in my practice lap around the store, but clothing that my attendant thought I would like as well.
By nature, I am a small town girl, which became glaringly apparent in the different pieces selected by my energetic “helper” as compared to those chosen by me. Her enthusiasm waned somewhat as she realized that her efforts to add spice to my wardrobe were met with repeated, albeit polite, reluctance, looking at me with a confusion and exasperation that only the trendy would understand.
Because what 38 year old mommy of three doesn’t need a black tube-top stretchy thing to wear in carpool line?
Despite a cavernous gap in tastes with my attendant, I was able to successfully blow my gift certificate, walking away with purchases that made me happy and leaving the risqué pieces behind for others who might do spicy.
Next, I came close to making my husband attend a bra fitting at Intimacy, but after being placed on a thirty-minute waiting list at the door by a head-set wearing lingerie hostess (what in the world?), he was mercifully spared. He was, however, very supportive. (Get it? )
After our shopping marathon we got together with my dear friend, Susan, to eat at Rathbuns, a restaurant opened by a guy notorious for defeating Bobby Flay in a fierce competition on Iron Chef.
After perusing the expansive, mouth watering menu, I ordered THREE plates for myself. Yep, three. While, they were labeled “small plates”, I believe I exceeded the norm after looking around the restaurant at all of the skinny, beautiful people nibbling on petite breadsticks dipped in a sprinkling of appetite suppressors. I don’t remember the exact descriptions of my triple play delights, but they included the following words: Lamb Scaloppini, Tuscan Mussels, and Thai Beef.
(If I had been on the Atkins Diet, my plates of protein would have been golden. However, the four desserts shared by the three of us after the meal blew any half-hearted attempts at ketosis right out of the sugar-infested waters.)
With full bellies in tow, and the top button of my pants unbuttoned to accommodate said fullness, we attended an event that headlined a band called Lullwater. The lead singer is Susan’s youngest brother, John, who was six years old when I was a sophomore in college. Needless to say, we were the only fossils in attendance as proven by the many "Yes Ma'am's" tossed in our direction. But it was fun; the music was great, and the apparel of the young girls just skimpy enough to make me consider raising my daughter Amish.
Sunday was my favorite day as John and I attended church with Susan. We visited the First Baptist Church of Atlanta led by Dr. Charles Stanley (love him). The congregation was very diverse and very energetic which found me getting my groove on to Baptist hymns. Those folks unabashedly worship the Lord in song, some tapping their foot, others shaking their booty. I imagine all of it must please Jesus and secretly hope He’s shaking his booty too.
It was a great weekend, with great shopping, great food, great music and great church. If you find yourself in Atlanta, check out Rathbun’s for dinner, any venue headlined by Lullwater, and worship with Dr. Stanley.
And if you’re feeling a little spicy, try on a black tube-top stretchy thing at White House/Black Market.