The F.D.A. has recently approved a new form of birth control: It’s called Pie on a Plane. Take a childless person of any age and place next to Pie while traveling for any amount of time greater than five minutes on an airplane. Guaranteed upon landing that person will be buying a mega-sized package of condoms if not signing up for an immediate vasectomy. And I really don’t think any more needs to be said especially as nothing I can write and truly capture the experience of flying with the Pie.
So the prodigal daughter has returned to the homeland of the Jews, aka Miami Beach. Doodles is thrilled to be in a place where the cookies are plentiful and the Nana will chase him. Pie is ecstatic to have new property to destroy. Adam and my father are so happy to see each other that they can’t stop chitter chattering like little girls. And me? I got a spa afternoon at The Standard with my gal pals Tina, Jennifer, and Rachel. My piggies are Bordeaux red, my pores have been steamed, and my belly is sloshing a martini… Ahhhh.
Of course, the Pie was up in the middle of the night and in a fit of anger last night, gnawed a nice size chunk out of my thigh and Doodles is refusing any and all “energy food” and the air conditioning gives me and Adam the sniffles, but if we block that out, all is good.
We have dinner at my grandparents, a visit to the Seaquarium, New Year’s eve at my cousins, black-and-white cookies from Epicure to resist, and trips to the park, beach, and pool to muddle through.
I hope that everyone has a fabulous new year. If you don’t hear from me again, it’s safe to say that I overdosed on Pie on a Plane on the return trip. May your 2007 be scream-free.
