VICIOUS CYCLE . . .

Last Friday, JW, C, Mrs.G and I went to Ruth's Chris for STEAK. We gorged on serious meat products, accompanied by a nice heaping plate of carbed-up side dishes. Scrumptious. Basically, I had wanted to treat these three particular lovelies because they have been excellent friends to me throughout the last several months, each in their own special way, and I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate that than over STEAK. We love STEAK. I love STEAK. I woke up the next morning craving . . . STEAK.

This afternoon, in the midst of me persistently rubbing my eyes to stay awake while poring over booooooring ERISA matters, one of the CSO's buzzed in and asked if I was around. First thought, of course, was: "What did I do now? I swear it wasn't me." But then, behind the CSO, strolled a delivery man, holding a petite bouquet of the prettiest flowers, from the best florist in town. For ME?! "Thanks for the steaks, for everything!" my "carnivorous friends" declared. Oh, my goodness. Am I weeping yet?

In all my 27 years, I've never received a flower delivery. Sure, family members produced gigantic bouquets after my high school musical performances, college boyfriends lay single roses at my dorm room door on my birthday and underclass cast members gifted me with daisies after law school shows that I assistant-directed. But I've never had the light aroma of fresh blooms waft past me in the office before. It's quite nice.

You wish you had friends like mine.

So now, I have another excuse for . . . STEAK. Hey guys, thanks for the flowers. I owe you one.

Let's go for steak.