The Measurement of Lunch

It's bound to be a girly lunch when it starts with taking your girlfriend's measurements.

Upper bust, bust, lower bust, waist, hips, shoulder to knee, nipple to nipple.

Yea, I have no earthly idea why that measurement was required, but who am I to question what she needed?

I was just the one with the tape measure.

From there we drove downtown to La Parisienne where the few tables on the sidewalk were full.

Inside seemed shaded and cool compared to the city street outside, but we chose salads to go with warm weather we'd just left.

I tried La Lyonaise (aka bacon and blue), a blend of frisee and arugula, seared lardons, bleu cheese, red onion and an egg poached in sherry Dijon vinaigrette that gave me all kinds of the strong flavors I crave.

The busty one got La Parisienne with lettuces, roasted chicken, ham, hard boiled eggs, potato, celery and tomatoes in mustard vinaigrette and said it was excellent.

We shared an order of Belgian fries because we have never lunched there without sharing fries and we weren't willing to risk doing so today.

Some records are worth keeping intact.

I always find the crowd at La Parisienne interesting because it's not my usual.

There are so many suits, so many high-maintenance-looking women, so many focused -looking people who clearly have far more important jobs than I've ever had.

And yet they must like crepes and croquettes and zee onion soup as much as I do.

Food, the great equalizer.

My friend was so busy sharing juicy gossip that a server kept trying to take her plate before she could finish eating.

I was so busy listening that I just kept inhaling fries.

By the time we walked out, we'd killed a couple of hours in the blink of an eye.

Walking back to the car, we passed Kanawha Plaza and realized that we should have spent some of our time there enjoying the Friday afternoon sunshine.

Oh, well, live and learn.

It's tough to stay focused when you start out with nipple to nipple.