Memoirs of a Fat Girl

I am at Starbucks and the man sitting in front of me is picking his nose. And I mean, really going in for the kill. Wait, he's found the treasure. He's pulled it out, taken a good look, and then flicked it across the room. And now he's scratching that hand on his temple.

I would be insanely disgusted, but I've lived in the city, remember? I do feel like lecturing him on the protein value of snot, just to be a smartass, but I think his bald spot and pleather jacket are punishment enough.

I love the city. I love the buildings, the stores, the people (that don't pick), the food, the noise. I love the book stores, the spas and the venues. I love the beaches and I love the dog parks.

I love being able to have coffee at every corner, and I know your burning question. I'm sitting in Starbucks after all, did I get a coffee? The snow is falling outside in perfect winter wonderland for a beautiful coffee atmosphere, but no, love. Just a sparkling water. This is a mood I want to keep.