It had been lovely to enjoy a few hours of sunshine on the birthday, the opportunity to stroll in search of cafe, coffee and cake putting to rest the alarming memory of wave patterns forming in the puddles on the roof of the building next door.
Although the vow to down copious quantities of wine and finally ride the Duck Bus never did materialise, the Monorail was finally conquered. Picture a handful of wide-eyed Canadians alternating between grinning like rubes and singing the Simpsons' monorail song under their breaths. I'll bet they've never heard that one in Seattle before.
The only problem with being kitchenless for Thanksgiving, of course, is the fact that you are kitchenless, and at the mercy of strangers for any sort of turkey feed. My kingdom for a drumstick. Alas, my cleverly-devised plans to gorge upon a Vera's turkey burger as a reasonable alternative to a turkey dinner were dashed when the overly humane restaurant owner closed the doors at 5:00 to allow his staff to enjoy their own dinners with family.
Fortunately, on Davie Street you are only left standing in the rain in front of a locked restaurant for a short time before the boundless other culinary options become apparent. So, pizza for the Spousal Unit and OFKAR, falafel for myself, it was.
That's quite a lot to be grateful for, when you think about it.