Headaches are the worst. And if you don't catch them right when they start, they're hard to cure. I've had one for four days. My mom told me to drink lemonade.
Lemonade?
I've taken naps, sat in dark rooms, taken Aleve, even taken Fiorinal. What the eff is lemonade gonna do?
But I was desperate, and unable to operate a motor vehicle, so I walked to Cabbage Patch.
I told them my mom sent me and was convinced they could cure my headache. As if that was a normal thing to say to a cafe owner.
He told me of course they could and prescribed French lentils (which were beautifully presented with avocado and drizzled oil and tasted like they could purify your soul) and told me the mint lemonade was on Dr. Cabbage Patch.
Driving on the freeway, looking at the streets and neighborhoods below, I often wonder what fabulous restaurants I'm missing. 
This year on my summer vacation I actually played tourist in my own home town. I've lived in Los Angeles for 20 years – never thought I would be here this long – and have pretty much seen/done everything over the years. Or so I thought. With keyboard at the ready, I searched the Internet for attractions that would appeal to both adults (me and my sister) and our 16-year-old niece, sort of a child, until you have to pay for her. 
During the Great Depression, Hollywood did its part by providing
people with the ultimate escape. It didn’t try to provide its audience
with everyday situations that just reinforced their misery. Sullivan’s
Travels made that point brilliantly. Instead, Hollywood gave them
fantasy and opulence. The glamour of the Busby Berkley movies, the
optimism of Shirley Temple; all these movies were a respite from the
bleakness that awaited them when the lights came up.
Despite the fact I have parents who eat ice cream almost every day (if they could have it at every meal, they would), until
recently I thought I could live happily without ever lifting a dessert spoon again.