Crepes.

Tonight we ate apple filled crepes in the center of the mall food court.  I eat the slowest and push the whipped cream to the side because the sugar stings my teeth, but I lick the caramel from the knife before throwing my plate away.  I'm always choosing my sweetness carefully.
We got our ring fingers sized at the jewelry store because that's what girls are supposed to do, and I chatted with the woman behind the counter because she used to work with my father and thinks I've grown into a beautiful woman.  Her sister died in March and she wants me to remember to tell my father that.  She says it three times.  I have the largest size, the fattest fingers.  The fattest. 

There's an opened bottle of wine in my backseat when I'm driving home so I slow down around the curves.  I smoke three cigarettes and wish I had gone with the salad instead of the crepe.  I tell my father about the sister of the woman and he says "oh".

I have problems with tense in my writing.  I'm always in the moment, and then I'm not.