January must be Customer Service Month.

It was a good, albeit frigid, weekend here. We actually saw more people than we do for some combined weeks.

We went with one pal to an awesome creperie up the street from here- I highly recommend it. Nora also gave it two miniature thumbs way up- but they're covered in cheese, so I wouldn't shake her hand or anything. There was a bit of a language barrier, so my Moroccan chai latte actually came as a fresh mint infusion- but happily, I'm a superbly easygoing diner. Also- he must have known that I actually needed mint more than all that sugar.

Our neighbor friends invited us over for dinner- again! (Okay, for any newcomers: we have one set of friendly neighbors that a) are sober, b) speak some semblance of English- heck, I'd take sober Spanish at this point, and c) have repeatedly made plans with us. This is great. What's even better is that, beyond those three stellar qualifications, they're actually superbly cool people who have an adorable one year old. That's right- they even come with a friend for our kid. And sure, Nora and Emily spent the better part of the evening shrieking directly into each others' faces...but I think that toddlers have a really intricate and evolved way of communicating. Besides- they made TACOS for dinner!

Another good friend came over for sugary treats a la El Trigal Bakery- the place where I get a a tote bag full of pastries and cookies for under five bucks total- and gabbed about her currently preggo form. Attention friends: a really cool way to be in my heart forever? Walk in the door and announce- Keely, you were right. Pregnancy is work! (Now, I don't want to be a Negative Nancy, nor do I want to take credit for others' hardships...but every now and again it's nice to be reminded how much of a hypochondriac I am not.)

Here's what else made this weekend deserving of a super silver star: I went shopping. Alone. For fun. Sure, it was at the Marshall's at Harlem and Irving (read: not "fancy" or "clean"), but boy oh boy, do they have clothing for grownups that aren't necessarily hoodies and sweatpants! Although they have those, too! In fact, I specifically went out for items that were cheap, pretty, and "grownup." (Is the fact that it's in quotes give away how novel that type of clothing might be?)

I filled a cart with sweater dresses, ruffled tops, skinny jeans (hahahahahahaha), and soft wrappy-type things that should not be anywhere within the vicinity of a child's hands. Even though I intended to only buy four items, I wanted to make sure I tried on everything in the Misses, Petite and Juniors section. (Shush.) When I went to try them on, though, I encountered a problem in the form of a really elderly, really non-English-speaking woman. (Seriously, I don't even know what language she spoke. She was THAT old.) She was, however, perfectly clear about the Ten Items Or Less rule. It was even written on the tag. No worries, I'd just take ten items and move the cart to- nope. That angry finger didn't want me to leave the cart anywhere near the changing room. Certainly not by the entrance. We compromised by having me shove it behind a rack of shoes, one store section away.

Now I couldn't enjoy the art of shoving myself into questionable clothing- complete with nerve-destroying staticky hair- because I kept thinking about the THIEVES who were at that very moment STEALING CLOTHING FROM MY CART.

The next problem came when two of the items actually fit me in the first round. Uh oh. Now I had only eight items that I could take in for the next bunch. Because, as the lady sorta babbled at me, I couldn't have more than ten. And they wouldn't watch my cart. (Basically, her job was to stand there and irately fling tags at people. And yell 'no.' Nora would rock that job.) Unfortunately, a couple of other items fit me as well- and though I couldn't afford to buy everything that fit, I wanted the good stuff on hand for the Lightning Round. So the next handful only contained six items. And so on. Eventually I was taking pieces in one at a time, getting fully dressed and putting my boots and coats back on, because NO PERSONAL ITEMS LEFT IN STALL.

I finally approached the woman in a Not Very Polite way, one boot half on, my hair standing up to the fluorescent lights and pointed at an empty rack. "I am putting my clothing here. I am buying them." (I lied.) "All?" "Yup." (Nope.) "And I am taking these items from my cart into the stall. I am trying all of them on, all in the same go-round." "Only ten." "I KNOW."

Tried them on, feeling pret-ty proud of my ability to stand up for myself after half an hour of abuse. That is, until, I came out of the changing room to find multiple girls taking items from the clothing rack! Again, channeling my daughter, I pleasantly grabbed the items from their arms with a big 'ol smile.

And I bought six. (Which, as P.J. pointed out, is totally fine for my once a year shopping trip.)

We rounded out the weekend by having a decidedly grownup date night after N.J. went to bed. We made Manhattans- extra cherry juice, thankyouverymuch- and put on a DVD of 'Double Wedding,' a glorious old movie with Myrna Loy and William Powell. We loved it so much that we...

...conked out and drooled on each others' sweats before the opening credits finished.

Happy Monday, grownups.