The morning air was brisk this morning as I headed down to the kitchen for a cup of hot coffee.  After pouring my cup and taking a sip, I turned to look out the window at the burgeoning dawn.  The sky, while a pale robin’s egg blue, it was the ribbon of yellows and oranges that caught my eye.  But it did not last.  Within the minute, it disappeared while the sun rose above the horizon.

This past weekend held a flurry of activity here at The Oasis at Four Queen Palms.

Best Friend and I were, in a way, held captive at home Friday while we waited and waited for the cable man to come and replace the DVR black box that burned out.  It turns out that the fan inside it died out, and the entire box needed to be swapped out with a new one.  The funny thing is that the box was only three years and two weeks old.

So much for technology.

We spent the next morning putting away our Christmas decorations.  We are traditionalists, and our decorations come down on Three Kings Day (Epiphany – January 6), or at the most, the next day.  This year, the dismantling was fairly easy, since we only decorated the main house.  I am questioning the point of decorating to the full extent anymore, but time will tell when the calendar turns to November later this year.  Stay tuned.

That same evening, Best Friend wanted to treat us to a very nice dinner out, and I thought it was a grand idea.  It’s something we don’t do very often.  He mentioned that he wanted to go somewhere where the booths are very comfortable, so I recommended the nice restaurant across the road.  We don’t usually go there except for once in a great while.  So, once we got our usual Saturday housework and business done, we got ready to go out.

We both dressed up since the restaurant is somewhat fancy (for this area).  Best Friend wore a French cuff shirt with cuff links; I wore an all-black dress and carried a silver clutch purse.

We sat at our usual quiet corner table in the bar section of the restaurant.  I had a clear view of the outside, and Best Friend had a good view of the bar.  This made for a pleasant atmosphere.  One of the things I like about this restaurant is the roomy couch-like chairs that are so comfortable. I have mentioned in the passing conversation that they would make a great addition to our dining room, if we were so inclined to replace the table suite at home.

We placed our orders – rib eye, a Peroni, and a pinot noir – and the two of us carried on light conversation.  That is, until a couple of patrons entered with a bit of bluster.

They spoke loudly, which made it difficult to concentrate on our private table conversation for the time being.  The two women who entered recognized two other women at the bar, and we all in the room knew it for the rest of the evening!  Moreover, it was aggravating to be forced to hear gossip (for they spoke loudly during their meal) about a neighbor.  Always remember, I thought, when someone gossips about one person, you can be sure they will gossip about you!

It also appeared that some of the men patrons at the bar live in our neighborhood, so that told me that the bar in our neighborhood isn’t always the go-to place.

One other point that both Best Friend and I observed that night is that although this restaurant is one that conveys some class (it is not a fast-food joint by any means), the patrons’ mode of dress did not reflect that.  We saw people dressed in loungewear, shorts, T-shirts, and one wore black leggings and a faux leopard fur quasi-bolero jacket that emphasized her ample rear end and squat legs.  In fact, Best Friend stated that it seemed that the evening crowd dressed very sloppily as compared to the daytime lunch crowd.  He is right.

This is something I – we – notice when we are out in the world.  For some reason, people don’t dress nicely nor neatly anymore, nor do they comb their hair.  Parts in the hair are all over the place, like a winding road in the mountains of Monaco.  Overall, it’s a look of sloppy fashion that seems to deteriorate as every season passes.  It is as if people don’t have respect for themselves, let alone for anyone around them.

As ever,

Lady Susan Marie Molloy

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