God changed his mind... and he's God, so I can't contest that...

I'm not what one would call 'difficult' to please. In fact, I'm pretty much content, and even full out happy, doing anything. Unless it involves flocks of large birds. Or anything that Martha Stewart would consider to be one of the ingredients in her recipe for sheer joy. This of course includes cooking... cleaning... sewing... decorating (time-out, unless it's a cake- because hey, who DOESN'T like those packaged sugar letters that spell out Happy Birthday...) I'm pretty sure that I was one of those young'ns who was ten times more entertained by the cardboard box than by the toy within. In fact, my favorite childhood item, and the subject of many days of sorrow when it mysteriously 'disappeared' that fateful day when I was about ten years old, was one of my dad's old t-shirts which I kept with me at all times... while I sucked my thumb. People in the supermarket must have frowned upon my poor parents, who by the way spoiled their first-born with Cabbage Patch dolls, Glo-Worms, and bicycles, upon seeing my adorable but silent four year old self carrying around a hideous, mustard-yellow t-shirt and treating it with the care and protection that would befit the Holy Grail... not a ratty piece of Dad's old clothes that was probably otherwise destined to be a rag used to clean the car's oil stick. But I was beyond happy with it in my hands.

Not much has changed since then. Although I have since abandoned my thumb-sucking habit, and the t-shirt fixation ended much to my dismay, there's still not a whole lot of upkeep necessary in regards to making me a happy gal. I mean, I'm 23 going on 8 years old... I roped Angel and Alfonso into going to the zoo with me the other day because I wanted to see monkeys and dolphins, I have spent up to an hour straight popping bubble wrap, and I'm not embarassed to say that I still enjoy a good handstand when nobody's watching (warning: close your shades if you're going to practice this childhood art in, say, your dorm room, because all of a sudden you will look across to the neighboring dorm building to find that half of its inhabitants are staring at you with raised eyebrows. Needless to say, you will then see these people in line at the dining hall and/or next to you on the ellypticals at the gym). The fact that I'm easy to please and beyond content doing anything as long as it's with people I like perhaps helps to explain what many classify as my chronic indecisiveness.

Moving along these same lines, one of the things that makes me most happy in this world is going out to eat... particularly for breakfast, and if given the choice, at the Shack in East Lyme. I mean, there's not a whole lot that would classify it as the thrilling experience I find it to be, and yet 8 dollars for a cup o' coffee, a big ole orange juice, and of course eggs, toast, and homefries, makes this Betsey a happy Betsey. Unfortunately, while the breakfast situation outlined above will forever be a favorite of mine, it is losing ground to a new foreign enemy: sunny Spanish afternoons spent sitting in street cafes with my ever-refreshing carbonated friend Coca-Cola light. I mean, it's the ideal situation, and the great thing about Madrid and Spain in general is that they all understand the wondrous wonderful wonderfulness of it... and therefore its practice is widespread and celebrated. If only us Americans would catch on to the street cafe lifestyle. It's THE equation for a glorious and yet relaxing afternoon: sit+sun+sip+stalk strangers. The only thing marginally close that I can think of near East Lyme is Charley's Restaurant at the mall, which now offers outdoor seating with a splendid view of... yes folks, the mall parking lot.

So, America, get with the program. Make your lives just that much more enjoyable.