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Serenaded in Spanish, by a hairdresser with a firm grasp on my hand and longing gaze. (I think he wanted to prove that Spanish is more romantic than Italian, which is no good. They lack Rome, for one.) The same man went on to kiss my neck, very thoroughly; to assure me that if I let him have the run of my hair he would make me Eve. Alluring, I'm sure.
Yesterday we celebrated Yalien's 70th birthday. I got drunk with Dani, my cousin Arnhild's boyfriend's sister, from London. We bonded over shoes, London, parties and more shoes. And had far too much wine. Relatives I'm supposed to recognize were everywhere. I think I ended up entertaining the cousins approximately my age with the story about how I threw up on Nightwish's guitarist. They must've been very impressed, don't you think?
Now I'm rushing off to meet Anette for breakfast, then I have to get home in time for lunch with Katrine. Tomorrow the "buddy week" begins, and I suspect it will all end in one gigantic blur of alcohol and laughter. I'm still spinning. Will recuperate eventually, but the cunning plan still stands: if things get awkward, get them all drunk.
Yesterday we celebrated Yalien's 70th birthday. I got drunk with Dani, my cousin Arnhild's boyfriend's sister, from London. We bonded over shoes, London, parties and more shoes. And had far too much wine. Relatives I'm supposed to recognize were everywhere. I think I ended up entertaining the cousins approximately my age with the story about how I threw up on Nightwish's guitarist. They must've been very impressed, don't you think?
Now I'm rushing off to meet Anette for breakfast, then I have to get home in time for lunch with Katrine. Tomorrow the "buddy week" begins, and I suspect it will all end in one gigantic blur of alcohol and laughter. I'm still spinning. Will recuperate eventually, but the cunning plan still stands: if things get awkward, get them all drunk.
