Francis has been going on about Cinnabon ever since I let him try one last week. While we’re having our morning coffee he says, “This would be so good with Cinnabon.” After dinner he puts his fork down and says, “You know what I’m craving for dessert right now? Cinnabon.” On the couch I am applying warm vanilla sugar lotion to my feet while watching the latest episode of Mad Men. He leans in with a big dorky grin, closes his eyes, catches a whiff and says, “Mmmmmm, smells like Cinnabon.” When it got to the point where he was whispering Cinnabon while brushing past me on the bathroom toilet, I knew for sure it was time to get this boy some Cinnabon.
“You can thank Reena for that,” I said. She always insists I try these amazing specialty foods that I wouldn’t be brave enough to try by myself (really, 880 calories for a pastry? crap). Stuff like Deli Manjoo and Beard Papa’s and in the case of our last date, Cinnabon. I love Reena.
Did I tell you about my ongoing theory that the better your are at driving, the better you are at handling life experiences? I am accident prone. You know the terrible Korean driver you poke fun of because ONLY SHE could hit a parked car? *ahem* That would be me. But Reena—I am constantly stepping on the imaginary break pedal from the passenger seat of her car. The lunatic of a driver. Even behind the wheel, she has the practical joking down. She’s the character who will tell you to roll up all your windows just so she can pass the deadliest gas and wait for a reaction. She does not warn you about it and refrains from laughing until just the right moment because it makes the stink all the more unbearable. EVIL.
There’s plenty of crude jokes and more use of the word ‘fierce’ than I can handle, but one thing’s for sure—it’s never boring when Reena’s around. We are different in more ways than we are the same, but I think that might be why we get on so well. She is the frosting to my Cinnabon.