on hulahoops

I admit I am not in a good mood. I wish I was- it’s above zero in this country, there is no precipitation, it’s a Friday, and somebody brought their toddler grandson to our office today. I should bust out a hulahoop. But I’m grumpy.

My dear sweet (okay, sometimes she makes me crave toothpaste she’s so sugar) friend and I had tea this afternoon, outdoors, next to some geekchic teens playing chess so quickly they’d constantly be twitching multiple plastic pieces in each snarled hand. A woman wheeled her infant by and I said “hi baby”. And the woman said instructively to her baby, “On dit ‘Bonjour’”. And I said very ironically, “Oh, un petit bébé Francophone!”, and his mother said, completely without irony, “Bien non, un bébé Français. De Paris”.

Gawd I’m a sucker for French snobbery.

So there we are, drinking tea, which I hate, but I am trying to drink less this week on account of the soggy excess of travels to TO, so tea it is. And my friend tells me about her friend whose boyfriend won’t let her visit her old penpal female friend blah blah blah. Then she tells me about her other friend who dumped his girlfriend when she got pregnant, and promptly brought a new one home, blah blah blah. The she tells me about this more-than-a-friend who keeps her skychecked but can’t get over his baggage, blah blah blah. And I have to abruptly (erg, rudely) stop her and we start talking about our mothers. I know- amazingly a more sumptuously satisfying gossip item.

Until I am out of this unfortunate mental fog please mercifully do not talk to me about men unless it is to exclaim at their dashing heroism or gray-templed wisdom weakening your knees, ok?