D: The lids on these plastic coffee cups are pretty sturdy.

Me: I sense a good story behind that sentence. Go on, tell me.

D: Well, it happens very frequently when I go to work – I have to somehow juggle a cup of scolding coffee, a muffin, watching a TV show on the iPad and the messenger bag that keeps falling off my shoulder. I sometimes get greedy and actually want to take a bite of the muffin. Getting it out of the paper bag with just one hand is a contortion exercise in itself, but somehow I manage to do it. Then I place the cup of coffee on the iPad, like on a tray… Why are you making that face? But that’s when, somehow, the very delicate balance is broken and I drop the coffee.

[Laughter ensues, on both parts]

D: So back to the lid. Not only do I not spill coffee on myself – well, who am I kidding, not only do I not spill A LOT of coffee on myself, it’s inevitable – or the people in the elevator… Did I mention this happens in the elevator? But also, after this spastic episode, I pick up the cup, and… coffee. I still have my coffee after performing a Cirque du Soleil juggling act.

—

Talk about first world problems, right?

We decorated our chubby tree (kudos to D for picking it out), roasted chestnuts and had peppermint hot chocolate.

Doesn’t the city look wonderful? Under the falling snow and a bit of fog (♥)?

Have a lovely holiday time, darlings! Stay warm and cozy.

^{[All pictures by me]}

The pain is kicking my ass big time. It hurts to swallow even the tiniest bit of saliva, and since I cannot eat much, I keep thinking about all the yummy foods I would eat and guess what? More saliva. *Facepalm*.

"In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm!" 

(Woody Allen)

{Seen on Wit+Delight via Ebb&Flow}

Regardless… Don’t you find it a bit unfair to deprive men of an entire color just because somebody arbitrarily (probably) decided it is to be associated with princesses and unicorns and sparkles and tutus? Plus, especially for darker complexion men all pastel colors, including pink, are so becoming (an expression nobody has ever used possibly since the Civil War). Of course, we all know the answer to the not-so-rhetorical questions above. It’s because said men are afraid pink will undermine their masculinity. And of course us women folk know that myth is busted.

My guy doesn’t have this pink phobia, which means I can go crazy and buy him shirts and ties in all Pantone shades and sub-shades, which means we’re both happy. Then again he washes his hair with Dove shampoo. Which brings me to this:

D: [jokingly, sifting through the gazillion types of Dove shampoo +/- conditioner on the drugstore shelf, not quite happy with the variety of products available] Hmmm… I’m looking for something more rugged…

Me: It’s DOVE! I’d say the ruggedness level is that of a baby chick’s fluffy feathers.

When I was a kid, summer officially began on the 15th of June. The last day of school. It seemed almost too good to be true. That day was like the Christmas of summer time, only that as presents we got zero tests, zero having to wake up early and zero studying. We did have the reading list for the next school year to go through, but that was OK. My sister and I would wake up at 9 am, usually no later than that, in our unconditioned two-bedroom apartment. Global warming wasn’t an issue back then. In June the linden tree which almost reached our livingroom window was still in bloom and in the early morning the air was so sweet I would step outside on the balcony and try to breathe it all in. It’s still one of my favorite smells, no matter how many Chanels I take a whiff at. Right after we woke up, my sister and I would  have something to eat – I specifically remember my Mom’s homemade yogurt. She used to leave us notes on the kitchen table saying “There’s yogurt in the fridge, butter, bread and honey. Eat.” So we’d eat that. We didn’t like cereals back then. We’d make some tartines with whatever the note said, and we’d take them two on a plate in the living room where we’d watch cartoons on an Italian TV channel.

Before you know it, it was noon and we were still in our breezy pajamas. We’d have lunch – usually a hearty Romanian sour soup with noodles and vegetables which kept our bellies full until dinner time – or until the sweet tooth kicked in and we ran to the corner store and bought biscuits, chocolate or any combination of both. In the afternoon we’d sometimes attempt going through our reading lists, that is until we decided we’d had enough of the summer heat and started spraying each other with water. Inside the apartment. Our parents were not impressed.
Some summers we went with our parents on vacation, others we went to camp and we came back with notebooks filled with songs and memories written down in purple glittery ink. We still kept some of those notebooks, and now as I go through them I am amazed at how different my handwriting was back then.

I remember many things from when I was a wee lass, but the first image I see in my mind’s eye when I think about the me of 15 years ago, is that of our bedroom window, with the afternoon light seeping in through the sheer curtains. As I’m sure is the case with all of us my childhood memories are filtered in this golden nostalgic hue. I think that’s how they’re supposed to be.

{Image from here}