imaginarycircus

My Parisian aunt sent me a letter, or a post card inside an #10 mailing envelope. The postcard is a menu from Le Comptoir, where we ate once in Paris. It was an incredibly memorable lunch, but my aunt wasn't in attendance. I'm not sure if she remembered me raving about it, or if she just happened to eat there with friends.

I took a photo of the chocolate pot du creme I had then because it was amazing:



I also had a salad of romaine hearts and poached fresh tuna that was ethereal. Is it weird that I tend to remember all the restaurants I've eaten in, what I ate, and where I sat? David says it is. But it's simply the way my brain works.

Once when I was in college my mother sent me a #10 envelope with a single green sock wrapped in saran wrap. No note. When I called her and asked her why she sent it. She said because she thought it was mine. And when I asked why she wrapped it in saran wrap? Because she wasn't sure it was clean and she didn't want it to contaminate other mail.