It’s been pretty nice weather since we moved here. So nice, that we are continually warned by people not to get used to it- that in fact it’s a terrible anomaly not seen since Easter two years ago. Hmm. I have been in denial. I have been convinced it is a higher power’s effort to appease us and make us love London. And yet, I do wait for the other shoe to drop. Whatever that expression means.
And so, understandably, this article over the weekend had me pretty depressed. (A) because I left New York, and (B) because I sort of feel I am being denied of my birthright. “Skimpy little dresses” with “spindly little straps” have always been God’s olive branch to the small-boobed set. So if you’re an A/B-cup stranded in a more temperate climate zone, I guess it sucks to be you. And I’m pale, so thanks for the double whammy 51-degree latitude North.
My levels of serotonin can be bought for a small price though. No, not the price of some Ecstacy you degenerate. Today I gave myself a little project and put together a charcoal barbecue for our terrace. It doesn’t matter that our hamburgers will be constructed from inferior Scottish beef or that it might take me a 3-day trek to locate Hebrew National hot dogs- we are going to grill this “summer,” dammit.