To her benefit, my daughter is quite neat and tidy about her apartment space. But when I got there on Sunday afternoon and the hot, hot sun (are you singing how bizarre! how bizarre! now?) came crashing through the windows I noticed a rather disgusting sight: her toilet bowl. It was the college mom in me that grabbed some cleaner, poured it on until my eyes bled from the fumes, and scrubbed it until it was fit for me to hoist my own tootie on it.

I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything else until that toilet was clean.

Right after that, The Fluid Pudding called me and we knew we’d arrive at Bailey’s Chocolate Bar at the same time. When I got off the phone I said to Mallory, “That was THE Fluid Pudding. Yeah. Uh huh. She has my cell number.” and I was smug for 1/1000th of a second because explaining my excitement to people about those that I read (and know and love) online is like reasoning with a clown that his honking nose is not funny. Unless you’re into that. And with online writers, I am. I am into them.

Since everyone including her and her and her and her and her and her and her has already re-capped this better and way before I, then I shall simply provide photographic evidence that I, indeed, met Bossy on her Saturn-sponsored Excellent Road trip.

Near the destination we saw great houses and this blue one just called my name. If this is your house then: PRETTY.

There was a scrumptious cheese tray with spiced walnuts that made my mouth do a happy dance. Perhaps a lambada?

There were photos I tried to take secretly save for the WHIRR, CLICK of the Canon. This should be an ad for something. Bamboo linens? Cheeky haircuts? Divine goddesses?

There were “Wouldn’t This Be A Funny Picture?” poses that required no libation lubrication. This is me sober. No, don’t run away. Come back.

There were desserts that my daughter ordered while I was busy chatting away with boisterous women. At one point, perhaps to simply shut me up, she shoved the pistachio-encrusted truffle in my mouth.

There were pictures that should never be enlarged because leftover mint from mojito-tasting is stuck in my teeth. If it looks fuzzy, it’s because my camera is drunk again. The lush.

There were “artistic” shots of Bossy taken with the ethereal light she produces from her being. While I am enamored with her site, I’m altogether smitten with her presence and soulfulness. I had taken two other pictures of her that she didn’t like (but one has her great arched eyebrow and it scares me a little) so I promised not to post it.

Several things stand out from that night: smelling Fluid Pudding’s hair (twice), Mallory putting her foot on the table and having every camera in the vicinity snap a photo of her tattooed tootsie, standing on a chair to pose for the long-armed Bossy shot and then realizing that leaning over in my skirt in front of the restaurant window may not have been a good idea, getting passionate and loud, no I mean LOUD, about education, and learning Bossy’s middle name. It made me forget all about cleaning toilets.