Monday, July 18, 2011

Garlic.

325. During the everlasting lunch a few weeks ago, one of the conversation topics was, what would an Australian boy say when he wanted to invite a girl over. An Italian, if you are to believe Bowser, would ask if the girl wants to see his butterfly collection. The last first time I ever went to an Australian boyfriend-to-be's place, I was practically comatose (through no fault of his, I should point out), so I had no witty anecdote to add. Damien, a Belgian postdoc, pretended to be Australian and invited the hypothetical girl to come over to see his kangaroo collection, but volunteered no typically Belgian pickup lines. I suppose in the land known for its legendary beer, pickup lines are not very necessary. Since then, I still do not know of a Belgian one, but I have found out this afternoon a French example.

"You should come over to see my garlic crusher," he tells me, without the slightest hint of irony, while adding pepper into the salad dressing that he was preparing. The thing is, I probably will. A garlic crusher with wheels sounds awesome.

326. Flatmates bonding.
Me, after three days of not seeing her: Hey.
Smurfette: Hello.
Me: How are you?
Smurfette: Hi.
Me thinking about it for a second, and then go back to my room. 
One step at a time.

327. Staying up until midnight, just to text someone on her birthday.
For some reason, this 327th moment seems to embarrass me, perhaps not more than some of the other moments (especially the one when I was sincerely asked if my brain was turned on that day), but enough for me to hesitate for a long time about posting it. At the end, I decide to write it down, because in ten years' time, exhausted after the whole day being a full-time professor who is always behind her deadlines and after the evening with two hyperactive but completely adorable kids (the kind and always helpful husband is unfortunately away on one of his Doctors without Borders field missions), I will probably miss these moments when I have the energy, and, equally important, the desire to stay up until midnight, just to text someone on his or her birthday.

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