Women are From Venus and Men are From Somewhere Gross and Skeevy

So the other day I was dutifully preparing my husband's dinner, so that it would be ready the instant he walked through the door after a hard day at the office. I had changed into a new outfit, applied fresh lipstick, put on my heels, and reminded myself to ask about HIS day, and not bother him with the petty little details of my life (you know, the usual).

Anyhoots, I was peeling potatos and I came across this:

I was immedietly enthralled. This was obviously a Potato of Love, symbolizing the Hor-Tec's deep and abiding adoration for one another. The Potato of Love represented all that was good and true about our relationship.

I put the Potato Of Love aside, and eagerly awaited the sound of his key in the doorway. When he arrived, I rushed forward, handing him a gin and tonic, taking his coat and umbrella, kneeling down to help him get his shoes off and giving him a quick shoulder massage (you know, the usual).

Then, with hands trembling in excitement and eyes glowing with my deep and abiding love for him, I brought him forward to see the Potato of Love.

"What do you think?" I asked tremulously (I have written an unpublishable Harlequin Romance -- can you tell?). My heart thudded with excitement and I awaited his response with bated breath.

"It looks like a set of hairy balls," he replied.




And you know? He's not wrong:





I leave you now for a month of travel -- Bermuda, Montreal, Ottawa, Halifax and Toronto, but I hope that Andrew's beautiful characterization of the Potato of Love as "A Set of Hairy Balls" will ring in your ears until I can return to blog once again.

Dutch Part II

While I had many many exciting adventures in my Nederlands 1.1 class, Nederlands 1.2 has been less eventful.

In fact, even though my teacher is really great, I'm just not that into it. I'm kinda bored and I have to force myself to go most days.

That being said, today was a very fun day. The teacher brought in cards with pictures of various products you can buy at the market. There was fish, fruit, chicken, desserts, bread, pastries etc. She divided the class into two groups. One group was the market vendors the other half were the clients. Our job was to pretend to be in a market and then have conversations with one another about buying things -- You know,

"Good morning ma'am."
"Good morning. How much are your grapes?"
"They are 5 euros a kilo."
"I will have 1 kilo, please."
'That will be 50 cents" (or whatever, I can't do the math)
"Here is 10 euros."
"Do you have smaller change?"
"Yes. Here is 5 euros."
"Thank you, have a good day."
"Good bye."

Anyway, we took turns being the seller and the customer and occasionally someone would liven things up by "stealing" something, or by butting ahead in line. We did this for an ENTIRE hour. For some reason it was incredibly fun. There was a lot of laughing and joking and I found myself quite anxious to either get a good deal, or to get the most money possible from my "customers."

It was only when I was telling Andrew about the game tonight that I realised why I had enjoyed myself so much.

I used to play that EXACT game in Kindergarten at Ecole St. Léon. I'd like to think that this indicates a youthful exuberance for life, rather than the fact that I have a five-year old's mentality.

La la.