In case you were wondering, we did make our way out of the shopping mall on Monday afternoon, but not immediately.
After my elevation to one of the beautiful people, by Ella Bache, we met up with Daughter1. We weren’t quite hungry enough for lunch, despite what my stomach was saying to the listening public, and so Daughter2 parked D1 and I at a café table for refreshment and disappeared to continue her wardrobe refinement.
This time around I chose a pot of Irish Breakfast tea, while D2 had coffee. She knew she needed the hard stuff to keep up with D2. So D1 and I caught up, as only two teachers comparing student horror stories can. After about an hour, the tea pot was drained, we were starting to feel guilty about occupying a table at what was now lunch rush, but too afraid to order without permission.
Luckily, D1 received a summons. D2 called from a change room, needing a sisterly opinion. So D1 was despatched with my request as to whether I was allowed to eat or not (and you thought Flamingo Dancer was afraid of no one, no one, that is except for her own daughters!) Eventually daughters returned and I was led away to another restaurant, where I was allowed to eat.
After a lovely lunch, and this time a pot of English Breakfast tea (I was now on a quest as to how many different blends of teas I could drink in a single day, but appeared anchored in the British Isles) Daughter1 and I were cut loose to browse, while Daughter2 made her final decisions and retraced her steps to finalise her purchases. So many dresses on hold, so much wardrobe to fill.
I lost count of the carry bags Daughter2 clutched on her return, but I think the retail sector is going to see an upsurge in September.
Not willing to give in to the day as yet, we moved on to the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA) to view the Henri Cartier-Bresson: The Man, The Image & The World exhibition. It was superb, to say the least.
Afterwards we were going to have cake, and no doubt more tea, but the restaurant at the nearby State Library cafe were asking $9.50 for one piece of cake! Sure it was chocolate cake, but $9.50! The cake would have averaged 20 servings, and they would have probably paid around $50 from the supplier, but it doesn’t take much of a mathematical ability to work out the rip off. On principle was refused to buy it.
Instead, we headed home. It was the kind of Monday I wish we could all have every week… though I think Daughter2’s closet might not cope under the strain!