16. "So, do you think you'll join me for the running class on Tuesdays?" I am asked.
"The teacher - the coach? How do you call it? - he's yoong."
"Yoong. That would be a good argument for you to come."
"Yes. And, he's almost handsome."
As I try not to point out that a mother would actually be offended if her child is said to be almost normal, I wonder which was supposed to be the winning factor, yoong or almost handsome.
17. Hearing those familiar steps. You'd think that what with being in the same office forever and a day, I can recognize most of my colleagues's steps. In reality, headphones on or not, practically the only person I can usually tell without looking up is Miss Santa Claus, and even then, it's because of her keys, not of her steps. This morning reminded me that there's another person I can always tell without looking up, even if I haven't seen her for most of the last six months. Recognizing Kate's steps made me happy, partly because it means that my
speech step recognition is not totally crap, mainly because it means that she's here.
18. We just come out of the Schuman Metro. Kate starts to make a turn, and before she completes the second step, I stop her. "Well, I don't know where this Rue Archimède thingy is, but it is not in that direction", I wave my arm in the general direction opposite to the Schuman Building. Spotting the needed street sign nearby, Kate admits that I am right. "I know", smugly, I say. "I actually live here."
"Mmmm", Kate smiles, and walks over Rue Archimède, in the elegant way that French girls, annoyingly, can always pull off. Navigating through the construction site that takes up most of the beginning of Rue Archimède, I tell Kate that this street looks like a nothing place. Kate smiles again, and as we walk on, she introduces me to crowded outdoor pubs and fancy restaurants, one after another.