A fraction of a day in the life in the less-talented, female Larry David. After a day of lounging and chilling at the house, we made it to the Saks and Gucci outlets. I relented and bought two pairs of size 28 jeans. And then these totally hot gold, strappy Gucci sandals, which Saveira bought as well.

(I think I've shared that Brother's new girlfriend and I have been instant BFFs since we first talked on Facebook.)

Well, the most fabulous news ever came out of yesterday--Saveira fits in purrrrrrrrfectly with our crew's style of shopping. And I foresee her accompanying Lynn, Gail, Mom and me on many a girls' shopping trip.

Here's where the Larry David part starts. We drove through Starbucks on the way home. Naturally, the adolescent working the shit filled my Americano to the brim with scalding coffee, in between trying to pour some out of the door and then putting the lid back on, I spilled the burning stuff all over my crotch, the carseat, floor etc. I screamed because it was painful. Then I realized that my mint-condition, Jackie O. suede Gucci bag--which I rarely carry precisely because liquids and suede are arch enemies--and I screamed again and threw the bag back to Saveira. She sprung right into action like a true fashionista friend, as panicked for the suede's state as I was.

I was simulaneously freaking out about the firecrotch I had going on, while Saveira was assuring me that Jackie was still as perfect as her namesake.

"God damnit." I huffed and puffed and got out of the car, walked around to the drive-through window and knocked. Saveira later told me that she was thinking, 'Oh, this is going to be good.'

"Stephanie, get back here, you're not burned!"

"I think management should know that these people are filling coffee to the brim for drivers. Don't they fucking realize that driving is bumpy?"

"Ste-eph, come on."

"I'll be nice."

She put the window up and Saveira was trying to keep her laughter in check. I saw the girl, who was all of about 16--or whatever the legal working age is--and my desire to verbally pummel someone evaporated. Anticlimactic for Saveira unfortunately.

I also started my veggie and fruit fast yesterday--fucking chemo baby--and was ravenous around dinnertime. Mom and dad have been entertaining all week, and last night about 15 of us stayed in and ordered Indian food. I specifically had Michael order me something with only veggies and no cream sauce. And a side of mango chutney. Oh, and PS, delivery doesn't exist in Jacksonville, so Dad had picked it up. Out of about 20 entrees, guess what they forgot? I was famished. And fuming, and the only reason the chef didn't get an earful of obscenities was that I finally coaxed Brother, who spent nine months in India, to get on the damn phone. (After the chef said 'I think we have communication breakdown.'

They actually agreed to deliver. 30 minutes later, as everyone was pretty much done, the driver calls. He seems to be in the general vicinity but cannot find our house. We have a.) many lights lining our long driveway; and b.) a large, brick mailbox with the address clearly visible even in the dark.

Finally, food. By which point I was less hungry, so I drained the cup of oil that the vegetables were doused in and ate.

I was supposed to drive home today, but as usual got lazy and wanted one more day with Wally, who I have to leave here while I'm in Chicago. I'm listening to Candace Bushnell's newest book on my drive, and it is so utterly boring. She really needs to put the pen down.

I am thankful Thanksgiving is over and I can get back to the peace, quiet and water. And civilization. A Saks and Gucci outlet center does not a city make.