This is shaping up to be the summer of meeting bloggers or something, what with me meeting, well, all two of them. Hallo, Cour Marly! Hallo, Saffron!

What is a good way to meet a girl for the first time is at the fance-o-riffic Lindt shoppe on Martin Place, where the storegirl took one look at our red Chinese slippers (Saffron) and pink billow skirt (me) and steered us away from the tables of corporate crows in serious suits—“They’re all having meetings”—to seats at the bar.

Cheh! Call us not a meeting?

And what a meeting, too, with nonstop chitchat about travels, about cupcakes, about funny mothers; and with beauteous presents of the freshly baked kind, thank you, Saffron, for the dark chocolate-blueberry slice and the polka-dot paper cups of cookies. I was beginning to feel a little inadequate with nothing homemade to offer, when CC phoned to say she was on her way. “Bring something, quick,” I said, listing the two-weeks-old half-loaf of banana bread or the remaining picked-at carcass from last night’s roast chicken. Our reputation was saved, though, somewhat, when she pointed out the toasted coconut brittle she’d made yesterday. Genius.

I see now that it seems a little crazy what I am saying, but, YES, it is true, we brought our own treats to the Lindt shop, even though the Lindt shop has mirabelle truffles, and Champagne macaroons, and cake macerated in orange liqueur. But you see it is not crazy at all, because it only means treats for now and treats for later, which is the best way to handle treats.

We had dark chocolate drinks all around, and then I checked out the toilets upstairs ’cause I had a faint hope that liquid chocolate would come out of the faucets—but it was only water like all in a day’s work.

With nowheres to be and the company sweet, we sat from the breakfast menu till the lunch menu, then the city chilly-willy and the 441 coming ’round the corner.

Home in time for Ben Harper, a biscuit, and a cup of Stockholm Blend, she’s only happy in the sun.