On Day three, Mrs. G. and her mom landed on Boston's famous Newbury Street. They had briefly flirted with it on Day Two, but on this day they courted Newbury street with blood, sweat, tears and cash money and damn near married it. It's capital the marriage didn't come to pass, because, beyond question, Newbury Street, a harsh mistress, would have eventually left them both high and dry and taken them for everything they were worth.
Mrs. G. strenuously, devoutly clutched her purse while she was on Newbury Street, not because she was afraid of being mugged but because she was afraid of mugging her wallet.
Mrs. G. and her mom started their day with breakfast at a delightful outdoor café. The food was delicious and the atmosphere lively. Many of their fellow diners were people who had run the marathon the day before and they dug into stacks of pancakes, waffles and apple smoked bacon with hard earned zip and zest, trying not to dip their finishers' medals in maple syrup as they ate.
Mrs. G. and her mom met up with Miss G. at this charming little bike. Mrs. G. has a great shot of her mom and daughter in front of the bike but she didn't post it because her mom (wrongly) thinks she looks pregnant in the photo. Say what you want about Mrs. G. but if you ask her not to post a photo of you because you think it makes you look pregnant, she won't post it whether you are pregnant or not.
But she is going to post this one because...does she need to even explain why?
And the shopping began. Mrs. G. is highlighting this Kiehl's store because it represents the essence of her mom. Mrs. G. and her mom had briefly popped into this store on Day Two and Mrs. G's mom perused the small shop while talking to the manager. As Mrs. G. drug her out of the store (it was not a shopping day), Mrs. G's mom promised she would be back to buy some things.
So when they went back, Mrs. G's mom barely had her foot in the door before the manager was practically leaping in the air as she exclaimed, "MIMI, YOU CAME BACK! I KNEW YOU WOULD. HOW ARE YOU. NOW YOU GET OVER HERE AND TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE BEEN UP TO SINCE I SAW YOU LAST." Since it was a shopping day, Mrs. G. just patted her mom on the back and told her she and Miss G. would be waiting outside.
And they waited.
And then Miss G. said they should just go check out some other stores, so they went into Rag and Bone, Lilly Pulitzer, Kate Spade (a separate post to come on the identity crisis Mrs. G. suffered here), Caswell-Massey, Steve Madden...
And they waited.
Eighty minutes later, Mrs. G's mom emerged from the store with a skin care line and a boatload of free shit.
Mrs. G's mom has never met a stranger...unless she has in which case she might run them over with her car.
People just naturally love her.
Thrifters at heart, Mrs. G, Miss G. and Mrs. G's mom checked out nearly all the second hand shops on Newbury Street.
They found a few treasures, but second hand shops on Newbury Street are not so different from first hand shops in Seattle. Used purses can be in the hundreds.
Mrs. G. and her mom had never been in an Urban Outfitters...
and it is fair to say that Mrs. G's mom wanted to move into Urban Outfitters and live there. She scored three pair of darling TOMS shoes.
Urban Outfitters was cool, but Mrs. G. wanted to move in and live here.
So long, Newbury Street! You will be missed.
It was time to head over and check out Mrs. G's daughter neighborhood. She lives on a charming street.
Her apartment is delightful (as is her roommate) and this is the pleasant view you see when sit out on her sweet deck. Actually, this was one of Mrs. G's favorite spots on the trip. Do you see The Very Hungry Caterpillar in this tree? Mrs. G's hopes so because she was stone cold sober and couldn't quit admiring it.
After a short respite, they headed to Brighton to have dinner here. Miss G. assured them it would be a real treat.
It went beyond a real treat into, no kidding, one of the best meals Mrs. G. has had on God's green earth. It is also where she had one of the best cocktails on God's green earth: the Sassy Co-worker .
Mrs. G's mom had the duck confit tacos and roasted cauliflower.
Mrs. G. had the Regal burger on brioche.
Miss G. had the steak frites and the frites were drenched in garlic, parmesan and truffle oil.
Mrs. G's mom ordered the bread pudding. Up until this moment, Mrs. G. had spent most of her life avoiding bread pudding because she assumed it was akin to smashed up Wonder Bread and Jello vanilla pudding.
Reader, she was wrong. Do not ever go to the Regal Beagle and not order the bread pudding. Luckily, at this point, Mrs. G. had had only one Sassy Co-worker (gin, lime, and a basil syrup) and was able to subdue herself from putting her Irish snout directly into the bowl and snorting it.
A word to the wise: while you absolutely should have the bread pudding at the Regal Beagle, you might reconsider having a second Sassy Co-worker. It might have been the strongest cocktail Mrs. G. ever consumed because within eight sips of the second one, she felt that slightly dangerous level of honest that's not even really honest, just stupid and twenty minutes later had to sit down on a bench outside the restaurant while waiting for the cab.
She would also like to thank her lucky stars that while everything she knows about technology she learned from the Amish, everything her mom knows about technology she learned from the Flinstones. Because her mom spent at least twenty minutes trying to take a picture of Mrs. G. on her hotel bed, spinning, while saying things like:
I'm going to figure out how to take a picture of you in this state.
Here's the right button...smile!
I hate this @!@$ phone but I'm sure this is working now.
OK, HERE WE GO.
Would you get up off the bed and help me take this picture of you? (Mrs. G. is not the only one who had cocktails.)
While Mrs. G. was saying things like:
If you take a picture of me in these pajama pants, I will kill you, Old Woman.
You haven't figured out the keycard to the hotel room once this whole trip so dream on about taking a picture with your telephone.
Maybe you should call 9-1-1 and ask them for instructions.
Miss G, tackle her!
Mrs. G. is not a good enough writer to describe what a wonderful evening this was. Her face and stomach muscles were sore the next morning from laughing so hard.
But the picture was never taken.
To be continued...