Then we wandered down to the Loop to grab breakfast in the fabulous Pittsfield Building. A glorious Art Deco structure with Spanish Gothic detailing, it was at one time the tallest building in Chicago. All 38 stories of it. It features a beautiful multi-story atrium that is almost theatrical in its detailing, and the venerable Pittsfield Café takes up a good third of the space, serving diner fare faux-alfresco, without all that pesky weather to spoil your greasy eggs.
Then at 2:00 I hop in my car and head to Iowa for my 20th high-school reunion. (ACK! Only OLD people go to 20th reunions!) After a lot of dramatic back-and-forthing, I finally decided I should attend, even though I have almost no contact with anyone from my class. So last night I slathered myself in fake tanner (the only pathetic thing I intend to do to maybe impress anyone—unless you count today’s arm workout, but I always do arms on Fridays so that hardly counts) and packed a range of outfits (the reunion is held in a lodge in a state park and there’s no air conditioning, so I just may have to wear my stripper thong and army boots out of sheer necessity) and even loaded up my wallet with business cards (just in case the football team is gay and single and still relatively hot and wants to stay in touch) and off I’m headed—to dance to Wham! in a sweaty state lodge with people I haven’t even thought about since I shopped at Chess King.
Coincidentally, there’s also a family reunion at the family farm in northeast Iowa this weekend, so the family and I are heading up there Sunday to make it a complete weekend of familiar faces and forgotten names on both sides of the DNA fence.
But first, lipo. And pec implants. And teeth whitening. And an Armani makeover. But I draw the line at manicures and pedicures. I don’t want these people thinking I’m trying too hard to impress them.