It's raining again! We're just back from town (that would be Pt. Reyes Station) where we had lunch at the Pine Cone restaurant, but at the little yellow table for two that no one wants because it's too small. The woman in the booth behind me was deafening and wheedling; her husband a low, bickering growl. Paid the check and then set off for the West Marin Thrift Store, where my friend Elisabeth finds elegant clothes, but I saw nothing approaching elegant, all was tired and pile-y and stretched out.
Jerry, however, found himself a small handbag, black with a white "J" on it, a child's purse. He was so delighted with this, the initial and all, that he bought it to use as a camera case. I said nothing, but it reminded me of the kindly vicar in one of Barbara Pym's novels who becomes enamoured of small animal-shaped soaps, which everyone but himself finds very odd.
Then we proceeded up the main street of PRS, where the Station House restaurant has had a smart coat of paint, and the whole town looks a little less of-the-rancher and more of-the-tourist, but the discerning tourist. A shop called Vita is so wonderful that I'd take anything in it (as a gift, pricey).
Cookies from the Bovine Bakery and now home to search for "Say Yes to the Dress" on cable. No matter what your size or shape, this bridal salon in NYC can shoehorn you into a strapless white dress with a boned bust that seems to have a life of its own.
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