Monday, April 11, 2011


31. 8ish. In the kitchen, dicing apples for the second layer of breakfast. My breakfast is the same for about three hundred days of a year, so I can practically do the whole routine in my sleep: waking up, snoozing the alarm clock about five times, rolling out of bed, opening the fridge, dicing apples, etc. This routine does not include changing out of sleeping clothes, which means that this morning, I was still in - what I'd like to think - a cute, flowing, free-spirit nightdress, paired with a pink light jacket. 

"Are you going to wear that to work?" asked Tintin. 
"Well, that's one way to turn Cutie McPretty off." 

Meet Tintin, my personal stylist. 

I briefly thought about telling Tintin that there was no "Cutie McPretty", and even if there was, I did not care whether he would be on or off. But, my personal stylist is also my bathroom-cleaner, pancake-maker, whisky-provider and general-life-advice-dispenser, so I just gave him the finger and went back to dicing apples. 

I did not come to work in my cute, flowing, free-spirit nightdress.

32. "Good morning," I say, as I walk into the office, for the first time this year not having to unlock the door myself. My new officemate is at her desk, taking up the space of my imaginary friend since the beginning of the year. The timing is perfect. Shortly after being on vacation for the first half of January, my former officemate abruptly left academia, allowing me three months of listening to loud music, dancing around half-naked, torturing children and generally whatever else that people do in the privacy of a one-person office. Now that there is officially no child left to torture, enters the new officemate. As I wonder if we would get along well, I make a mental note not to tell her about the tortured children.

33. "You could write about the tiramisu," suggested Zoe. Earlier today, Isabelle had kindly prepared two delicious, creamy tiramisus for us: one chocolate and one liquor-soaked strawberry. It is a testimony to our friendship that I resisted the temptation to take the plastic box away from her for myself, as I watched Zoe lick off the remainder of the chocolate tiramisu. 
"You could write about the tiramisu," said I. 
"You know how I describe things. 'It was very good.' Blog entry done. You see." 
"Oh no, you wouldn't even use 'It was very'." 
"For the blog, I'd make an exception." 

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