Hello my little dumplings,
Tu me manque! It dawns on me that you do not, in fact, speak French, so when I spew French sayings you are not thinking “bilingual dynamism, what joy!” but rather “ummm….” Are I not amazing at wiggling my way into other people’s minds? Oh yes, a fine display indeed of the perceptive skills we’ve long discussed. Perfect.
My biking exploits are more fabulous by the day. I mean, you take my less-than-stellar sense of direction, faulty bikes, and throw in my checked chef pants, and you’ve really got something there (I now wear my pants to and from school, for it turns out that the terry-cloth covered velcro band is exceedingly comfortable to bike in). Ce matin, I was biking against the sanctioned direction of the traffic. This is, for your information (store it away with other super duper tidbits and factoids to impress people at bars and cocktail parties!) a fineable offense, and of course I ran into a group of policemen. Can you not feel the universe raining its love down on me? I sure can. One cop in particular came forward, with the obvious intention of being stern and aggressively reprimanding, but all he could do was look at my pants. Actually, he was visibly trying not to laugh out loud at my poor goofy self, and I must commend him for this incredible effort. Particularly because the intense concentration it required left him far too drained (I’m talking wiped, spent) to do anything other than pat me awkwardly, tell me it would be a damn shame if I were to die, and point me in the right direction. What a nice guy, and a gentleman to boot! Those pantaloons are rather vivid.
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Tapenade, and Pine Nuts