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selkie at 05:49pm on 14/06/2005
selkie at 05:49pm on 14/06/2005I'd like to start by saying I have an inordinate weakness for perfectly fresh, crisp Saltines. I have such a thing for complex flavours, you'd think I'd find them boring, but... When they're good, they're really good.
My mother induced shock and awe yesterday. Not only was everyone reasonably well-behaved (some vacillation over which museum nowwwww was had, and a lot of 'I'm hot/thirsty/tired/bored of looking at dead rocks/mammals/Pollacks from the sibling and her friend) but. But.
She paid for everyone's lunch at the bloody National Gallery. I was sticking to a cold sandwich and a bottled water, because the prices were making me choke, and she got a slice of cherry clafoutis and set it on my tray for me to have.
She bought me three shirts and had brought me another one .
She paid at the gelateria.
She put $25 on my transit card.
And she loaded us up with groceries. Such as Saltines. I wasn't angling to get her to pay for groceries, I just wanted to avail myself of her car to get a 25-pound bucket of cat-litter, and my sister wanted the bookstore, and there was a bookstore next to the grocery store, and so on...
It went well, I thought.
There was a woman at the bus depot today who'd gone a bit bosky from the heat, and asked every person in queue, in an increasingly shrill and irate voice, whether they were queuing for the A, E, F or C bus. Because it's not fair! Because it will hold me up if you're all standing in the same line! If you're not waiting for the C bus, stand over there! Let me guess, you're waiting for the A?
...Ma'am, when it's 4.55 and 100 degrees out, I'm queueing for whatever bus will haul me up my hill. I'm not prepared to be alphabetically picky about it.
And I had a good job interview today, for a company for which [oh, now there's some grammar] I'd actually be disappointed if I didn't get to join, as opposed to the more usual being disappointed with myself for not getting the job.
And did I mention I opened this morning?
*thud*
ETA: I forgot! In response to my ogling of the Dutch Kabinet Galleries at the National, my mother bought me a splendid large poster of Girl In a Red Hat! Now I sort of want a corresponding one of de Hooch's The Bedroom, because I adore the expressions of the faces, and the warm red of the tile floor, and... just so many things about it, but the National Gallery didn't have it.
It's not his fault he was named de Hooch.
My mother induced shock and awe yesterday. Not only was everyone reasonably well-behaved (some vacillation over which museum nowwwww was had, and a lot of 'I'm hot/thirsty/tired/bored of looking at dead rocks/mammals/Pollacks from the sibling and her friend) but. But.
She paid for everyone's lunch at the bloody National Gallery. I was sticking to a cold sandwich and a bottled water, because the prices were making me choke, and she got a slice of cherry clafoutis and set it on my tray for me to have.
She bought me three shirts and had brought me another one .
She paid at the gelateria.
She put $25 on my transit card.
And she loaded us up with groceries. Such as Saltines. I wasn't angling to get her to pay for groceries, I just wanted to avail myself of her car to get a 25-pound bucket of cat-litter, and my sister wanted the bookstore, and there was a bookstore next to the grocery store, and so on...
It went well, I thought.
There was a woman at the bus depot today who'd gone a bit bosky from the heat, and asked every person in queue, in an increasingly shrill and irate voice, whether they were queuing for the A, E, F or C bus. Because it's not fair! Because it will hold me up if you're all standing in the same line! If you're not waiting for the C bus, stand over there! Let me guess, you're waiting for the A?
...Ma'am, when it's 4.55 and 100 degrees out, I'm queueing for whatever bus will haul me up my hill. I'm not prepared to be alphabetically picky about it.
And I had a good job interview today, for a company for which [oh, now there's some grammar] I'd actually be disappointed if I didn't get to join, as opposed to the more usual being disappointed with myself for not getting the job.
And did I mention I opened this morning?
*thud*
ETA: I forgot! In response to my ogling of the Dutch Kabinet Galleries at the National, my mother bought me a splendid large poster of Girl In a Red Hat! Now I sort of want a corresponding one of de Hooch's The Bedroom, because I adore the expressions of the faces, and the warm red of the tile floor, and... just so many things about it, but the National Gallery didn't have it.
It's not his fault he was named de Hooch.
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