January 27, 2019

Pink Everyday is dedicated to all the lives affected by breast cancer. The truth is that breast cancer is lifelong. There seems to be no end to the battle. My hope is that we can create a community of truth tellers by sharing our stories of grit, perseverance and bravery.

Pie Without Pants & Warrior Donuts: A Night of Grace at Dahlia

Sometimes, grace shows up as coconut cream pie. Sometimes it shows up wearing a name tag that says Cheryl.

Cheryl’s Warrior Donuts and the best Coconut Cream Pie EVER!

I wasn’t planning to write tonight. Honestly, I was going to soak in this last weekend of semi-normalcy before surgery and fall asleep in a soft hotel robe. But something happened. Too many somethings. And they need to be shared.

We’re holed up at the Westin, treating LB (Left Breast, my longtime ride-or-die) to a final hurrah. And boy, did Seattle show up. Room upgrade to the 29th floor with a sound view? Yes, please. Afternoon nap? You bet. Then off to the holy grail of Seattle dining: Dahlia Lounge.

Only… it’s January and somehow, the restaurant is packed. We tried our luck. “It’s a special night,” we told them, hoping to squeeze in. “We’re celebrating a goodbye.” No luck—until the bartender waved us over to two seats at the bar. Our pace. Our kind of magic.

We sipped our way through happy hour, demolished the best crab cakes this side of heaven, and sighed with contentment. But no Dahlia visit is complete without the world-famous Coconut Cream Pie. Problem? We were stuffed. Enter Kelly, our hilarious, tender waitress who came up with a brilliant solution: “Pie without pants!” Translation—take it to go and enjoy it in your jammies.

But that wasn’t even the miracle.

Cheryl, the manager, came over. We had connected earlier and shared my story. Turns out, her sister is a breast cancer survivor. When our check came, Cheryl had comped the entire dessert spread—plus the meal. And just to drive the grace point home, she threw in warm fresh donuts with rhubarb sauce and whipped cream. Her sister’s favorite. “You need both,” she said.

They took $60+ off our bill. But the real gift? Knowing someone saw us. Heard us. Held our story for a moment. That’s the kind of generosity that makes this fight feel less lonely.

I walked into Dahlia thinking I was saying goodbye to a boob. Turns out, I was saying yes—to miracles. Yes to being known. Yes to pie, pants optional. Yes to community care wrapped in rhubarb sauce and Seattle sunset views.

Letter to Self

Dear Me,
Keep saying yes to joy—even when it feels too tender. Let people surprise you. Let love find you in hotel lobbies, bar stools, and dessert boxes. Grace is sneaky like that.
Love,
Me