The three of us are playing on the bed, tickling Timi and laughing our heads off. Robi lifts Timi by the ankles, puts her on the bed, then lifts her again and so on. Timi is giggling.
“Are you dipping Timi into the bed?”
“Yes.”
“Why? She’s not a teabag.”
“True. But she’s a cookie.”
Just before going on holidays I received a mail from this blog’s owner, inviting me to join. The premise is simple - you tell on your blog what you’re willing to send (candies, books, spices, yarn, clothes, music, etc), add your blog to the list on the site so others can find you too, then choose a participant from another country that has the stuff you’re craving for. You contact the person, goodies get exchanged, you send a post and a picture of the stuff you received to the main swapping blog (you know, the one from the link) and .. that’s about it. Brilliant, hmm?
I intend to compile a list with the things I can give / things I want this evening. It will definetely involve candy. And oriental spices.
Later edit: things I want:
-candy (..toldya)
-oriental spices (see above for details)
-ethnic clothing
-the weirdest flavoured potato chips you have.
-other types of food (especially cheese)
-drinks
What I can offer (if your customs allow it to be sent from Romania - for example I cannot send foods/beverages/teas to the USA, however they are allowed to be sent here. Sucks, I know.):
-Romanian magazines
- Romanian candy / chocolate/ biscuits/ spices/ chips/ snacks
- Herbal tea for anything that’s bothering you - you name your condition, I’ve got the remedy (or at least something that decreases the symptoms)
-Romanian music CDs
-Postcards
Yesterday we found out the “good-guy” - as we saw Dana B’s ex - had a rather interesting view on us, meaning that he considered Dana A “a whore” and me as being “ugly as a jar’s bottom”. Ahem.
Now if it would have been any other feature attacked I’d just shrug it off. Stupid? I have my diplomas, my IQ and my writings right here, buddy. Not a good wife/mom? Heh.Heh.Heheheh. Say that to Timi and Robi. Messy? I call it “creative rearranging capacity”. But ugly? I laughed on the outside but inside I was taken right back to high school.
I never considered myself a gorgeous creature - since 8th grade I’ve been more or less aware of the fact that I’m short, have inherited my father’s strong nose and jaw, my mom’s freckles and I ocasionally have to wear glasses. I couldn’t believe that I was ugly either - there was a small but constant flux of eligible guys that fell for me, and my dad constantly told both me and sis that we look great (and that we’re intelligent and powerful and can do whatever we want with our lives, but let’s stick to the point - anyway, thank you dad). When I was sometimes branded with the U word by one of the catty girls from the class I was in, I suffered for a few hours, and then I forgot about it.
University came, and life was good, I’ve met Robi who sees me as the most wonderful woman that ever walked on this planet - and I see him as the male equivalent to that. I’ve come to accept the fact that I might be pretty. Yet here I was, a few hours after I found out about it, cursing loudly the guy in my kitchen while I prepared the bolognese sauce for the lunch.
I stopped from the cursing and marveled at why I was still allowing the issue to bug me. Was I believing him? Should I come to terms with a real uglyness? But then, what about how Robi sees me? And then I was enlightened.
Compared to Dana B’s ex’s standards, I’m classified as ugly.
Compared to my dad’s and my sister’s and my mom’s, I’m beautiful.
Compared to Robi’s and my daughter’s, I’m the most beautiful .
Now who’s opinion counts for me more? My loved ones’ or that random guy’s?
And all was well again.
There was one thing that happened during Sean’s visit that I forgot to tell you about. Sunday morning at 7 am while everybody was sleeping peacefully I hear a loud knock on the door completed with the doorbell ringing.”Oh fod it, the milklady is really coming early this week” thinks the one neuron awoken in my poor head. “Let’s try to go back to sleep, maybe Robi will answer it ..or she’ll give up”. But the ringing gets more insistent so I surrender and go to open the door.
What I see is a young long-haired guy with an impenetrable face, staring at me.”Yes, what do you want?” He doesn’t answer, and tries to enter. I manage to close the door. Then, because the neuron that was on duty happened to be Dopey, the Cortex Idiot, I open again, thinking that maybe he really had something to say and I didn’t hear it. He stares at me again, I ask again what he wants and he tries again to enter. I push as hard as possible and close the door, after which the rest of the brain cells decide to wake up and my IQ rises over that of an earthworm’s. So I run and wake up Robi. The doorbell starts ringing again.
“There’saguyatthedoorandhetriedtogetinthehouseandhe’sringingpleasedosomething!!
Robi, cool as a Jedi master, says “Ok” and goes to the door. Me, judging that one man to defend the gates is good, but two are better, wake up Sean who jumps out of the bed and goes near Robi. The guy outside mumbles defensively something about looking for a Monica and then says the name of the family that lives on the 2nd floor. Robi directs him to the right door, Sean comments something about the guy being lucky for not getting him as the door-answerer and we go back to sleep.
I saw The Monica yesterday while we were getting in the car to go shopping. She looked very guilty when she saw us. Considering that the guy was either high or drunk as a skunk, there was no need to ask why.
In completely different news, remember this post? Guess who broke up with the good guy and got it back on with MrBig? And by golly, she’s not even blonde anymore.
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