every time that i see your face,/i wonder what lies beneath your smile

I miss my cute little preschool kids.

And I miss Dennis the Menace, too.

I was reminded of both this afternoon because I stopped by D's apartment to say hello and was pleasantly surprised to find myself greeted with such unrestrained joy. I'm always amazed when people tell me they miss me. I suppose it's a self-defense mechanism - a remnant of all those years of moving often as I was growing up - that I still manage to have moments of aloofness and reserve when it comes to friendship, even with those people I'm otherwise very close to.

"I've been looking around for your birthday present!" D announced excitedly.
"What? Why? My birthday was a month ago, woman. And, anyway, I don't need a birthday present."
"No, no, don't worry, I'm getting you something. But it has to be something that just screams out 'Yaz!' to me. I haven’t found anything like that yet, but you'll be getting it sometime soon."

"And we need to see each other more often this quarter," she continued.
"Maybe lunch or dinner," I suggested. I'm easy to please - for me, hanging out with friends is all about the food experience.
"Yeah," she nodded, then grinned widely. "And we can spend some swing time together, too!"

Later, during the drive home, I stopped at a market to buy some fruits and vegetables for my mother. Which brings up a few points:

- There's yellow squash, and there's zucchini. My family refers to zucchini as "green squash." After all, once you cook them, both yellow squash and zucchini taste the same to me. Don't tell me it's just because I have indiscriminating taste buds. I'll have you know that my taste buds are very discriminating. That’s why I dislike squash intensely, and I don't even care what color it is.

- My family calls cilantro "green coriander" instead. As opposed to ground coriander, ya know.

- What genius decided that turnips and sweet potatoes are two different vegetables? Radishes, turnips, and sweet potatoes all they taste the same, once cooked. And I dislike them even more than I dislike squash.

The boy at the register laughed at my huge bundles of cilantro. "You sure don't mess around, do you?" he remarked. Three bunches for ninety-nine cents. How ever could I resist?

"Are you going to need some help out?" he asked courteously.
I glanced at my purchases and shook my head. "No, thanks, I'm fine."
He didn't so much as blink, but instead turned to page someone over the intercom to help me carry out the five bags full of groceries that I quite obviously would not have been able to manage on my own.
I'm too stubborn to admit when I need help. I'd call it a matter of pride, but maybe it's just stupidity.

Getting back into the hang of commuting during the past week has been slightly exhausting, but it was easier today. I drove home squinting against the fading sunlight, placidly munching on an ice cream bar and listening to India.Arie and Nickelback. The latter always makes me smile, bringing to mind as it does a good friend.

Speaking of driving - For the person who stopped by my weblog while searching for information on "driving barefoot," you've come to the right place. I'm glad to know you were able to read my thoughts on the matter. Please don't drive barefoot. It annoys me, and that should be sufficient reason to refrain from it.

As for the person who searched for "dilemmas faced by a person who wasn't able to manage the time," you're at the right place, too, buddy. Now if only I could make a career out of wasting time.