They call me Grace Kelly

Sup Den,

C'est vrai, ma petite est tres malade and I'm crossing my fingers that her health improves before our turn as groupies next week. On Monday, we leave for Barcelona to see Mimi's friends' band play. The boys are in an electronica band, which is a musical genre I'm unfamiliar with but fairly certain I don't like. However, as Meg previously mentioned, we'll be able to act out our Penny Lane dreams, so, whatevs (currently on the lookout for my very own shaggy fur lined coat).

In other news, we made quite a spectacle at a dude cafe yesterday. We've already talked about how most of the cafes in Marrakech are spilling over with men, sipping on tea and smoking cigs for hours on end, right? It's rare that you find a Moroccan woman enjoying a beverage at these cafes, as this seems to be a generally discouraged activity for les femmes.

Often I feel intimidated going into these cafes, as typically upon entering, total silence ensues and all eyes are on you for the duration of your stay (not in a sleazy way per se, but more in a totally baffled and confused way). Yesterday, Megs and I decided to suck it up and have lunch in a particularly crowded dude cafe. We entered confidently and ordered two cheese omelets. While eating, we were quietly discussing how we'd each gained some weight recently, and I realized I had an old US Weekly in my bag, with a "Diets That Work!" cover story.

I was covertly flipping through the magazine, which was partially tucked into my bag, softly explaining to Megan that she should go on Kate Beckinsale's "Can't Give Up Carbs" diet, when I tragically over-gestured. I made this sort of karate chop gesture in emphasizing Kate's diet regime, and with that, time slowed down... I hit the side of my plate, causing it to fly surprisingly high into the air, and my omelet to separate from it. With cat-like reflexes, I howled something like "myyyyy omeleeeeeet," and mid-air, CAUGHT the omelet in my hand as the plate crashed to pieces on the floor next to us. Half-way off the chair, and with my hand proudly raised in the air, grasping my miraculously unscathed omelet, I looked at Mimi. Her jaw was dropped to the table and eyes bulged out. A quick glance around revealed a similar reaction from all and I attempted to subtly place my omelet on a little side coffee plate. Well, lunch was cut very short and I was barely able to eat my omelet after that mishap, but I suppose, ultimately, that was good for my diet.


Sincerely,

Lady Victory with omelet in hand