Dig me chaps, Carrie Bradshaw eat your heart out. Only with marginally fewer fabulous shoes. But I'm working on it. Any family member can verify this; that is if they haven't broken their necks tripping over said pairs of shoes.
Anyways, getting into the Sex and the City lingo (of which I am now fluent unsurprisingly, i'm thinking about going cold turkey as weaning myself off the four fashionistas is proving unsuccessful), 'I couldn't help but wonder'.... what the hell to worry about now.
It has been so long since at least something hasn't been nagging away at my mind, incessantly eating away, nibble, nibble, nibble (say it fast enough and sounds funny, bit like nipple haha), nag, nag, nag, pressure, stress, tap, tap, tap like chinese water torture until... kaboom! She blows. I just do not know what to do with myself now that there is nothing to worry me, I think I thrive on it. Hmmm... will have to find something or will be at a loose end. Maybe I could worry about lack of worry. Hurrah! A brand new set of neuroses to focus on. Thank goodness for that. I was beginning to worry.
Talking to N on matters of philosophy and religion (which of course happens a great deal in this ever so cultured, bohemian, intellectual household, usually as we sit down crosslegged on our Ethiopian woven mats to bowls of tofu and quinoa whilst listening to pan pipes and breathing in incence fumes) is an interesting experience. Loving it how the idea of an all powerful divine being who created everything and who cannot be seen and could well be living in the clouds, with them snuggled around him/her like big squashy cushions, seems perfectly acceptable to him, yet the Bible frankly a ridiculous notion. The boy'll go far.
By the way, just a warning to all folks in the vicinity of the Kirk dwelling. Now the sun seems to have made an appearence (hello stranger!) the sleeveless red tank top has made a long overdue revisitation also. You know summer is well and truly arrived when the vibrant vest of archaic origin is dug out once more. Shield the eyes of the innocent, save yourselves. Alas, it is too late for me, my young mind was corrupted by it long ago. Yet it may be at least a couple more weeks until the chest (and slightly increasing tummy, though this is not mentioned since it was discovered that the poor lamb is a little sensitive about it) is bared in full. We live in hope.
2 comments:
That is no way to speak of your father Anna! The red vest is a good colour for him and looks good with the Indiana Jones hat - in a slightly eccentric sort of way.
And that is why you are married to him and the rest of us merely look on in abject amazement. One woman's bizarre oddball is another's dashing beatnik. Thank goodness the man has us girls to put him right, though I doubt he'd be in agreement with that.
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