Due to circumstances beyond my control there were no pastries this morning. OK, maybe not totally out of my control, but my "Minnesota nice" bubbled to the surface and when I tried to say no to someone it sounded like yes instead. There I was, babysitting instead of eating the most delicious tasting and beautiful to look at pastries in Florence.
I'm kind of afraid that the nice is rubbing off on Leif. Or maybe it's one of those weird customs that came over on the boat with a Swede and what we call "Minnesota nice" is really "Swedish nice." When the same man called him 15 minutes later ask him to work today he also said yes, so his plan of riding to the pastries and bringing them home for me was over too.
A friend told me that Oprah said that God gave us the word no to use. She added that if Oprah said it, it must be true. It would be crazy of me to argue with God and Oprah. I could probably handle myself all right in a discussion with one or the other, but if they've joined forces I'm outnumbered. I should just agree and find a way to say no more often.
I realize that we have to do something more than once for it to become our Sunday ritual, but I was so hoping this ride to the pastry could be it. A slow ride with a worthy goal at the end. But no. So we heave a large sigh of disappointment and hope that sometime in the future I will be eating pastries fit for angels.
Update: The awesome man I married rode to the pastries as soon as I left and brought some home so that when he got home we could have them together. So the pastries happened, just not in the morning. They tasted almost as good as they would have in the morning. He's the best.