Stating the Obvious

Got home from work early(ish) today to prep for tomorrow's big Halloween celebrations at work. Since I had foolishly agreed to a client meeting during the day, there was the added pressure of trying to find an outfit that would make the quick switch between regular clothes and costume! After emptying out the entire contents of my wardrobe onto my bed, I decided that pirate was the easiest option as I already had the accessories and it would be quick enough making an eye patch to complete the look.

I retrieved the piece of felt and laid it out on the kitchen counter. Since we don't have a dining table, the counter serves dual purpose. On surveying the cutlass and ornate pirate like pistol, I deem that they could both do with a bit of a jazz up. Gold paper would do the trick, so I left the stuff on the counter and popped round to the shops.

Got back to find the Flatmate in a state of cleaning flurry. "Thought I'd scrub everything down", he said beaming at me. "About bloody time" is what I thought as I looked around for the piece of felt. Where the heck was it? I'd only just laid it out along with the scissors and elastic. Wait, what was that crumpled up thing in the corner? Sopping wet and ragged? My felt!!!! What?!!

Flatmate sees me lift it up. "By the way, we need a better counter cloth. That one sucks. Doesn't absorb a damned thing. It's like it's felt or something!"

Career Choices

The thing I love the most about being a commuter is the variety of folk you tend to see, meet and interact with on public transit. Usually I am a passive observer of the kaleidoscope of life. Today was different. 

Lady (and I use this term loosely) on the streetcar with a persistent hacking cough. After about 20 minutes of having her hack up a lung, another lady approaches her and says, "I have some cough drops, would you like one?"

Cougher lady reacts with a venomous hiss (really!) and shouts of, "Leave me alone! Stop HARASSING me!!" 

While the poor Samaritan tries to creep awa

y from the unexpected onslaught of verbal abuse, I suddenly find the whole thing hilarious and start laughing. And because I am laughing like an out-of-control hyena, the folks around me start to laugh as well.

Of course, this does nothing to calm the Cougher and she gets even more enraged and the shouting escalates and there is hand waving involved.

Finally, much to everyone's relief she gets off the vehicle and the last we see of her is the rude gesture directed at a streetcar full of giggling riders.

Moral of the story: I realise that I am not suited for the Diplomatic Corps.

Wash, Cut and Find-a-Man

It had been a couple of months since my return from G Town and the intense heat and humidity of the Torrana summer was playing havoc with my tresses.  After two years of being pampered with a personal hair stylist by way of VBF's mum in law, going out and finding a new hairdresser was just as daunting as looking for a new soul mate.

A referral from my cousin who, has what I will politely call "problematic" hair saw me making an appointment with a salon in Korea town. I figured that any hair dresser who could manage the cousin's mop presentable was worth a shot.

Stepping into the salon, I was met with a chorus of greetings and a line of broadly grinning Korean people. The manager-lady approached me (still grinning) and a little flustered, I shook my hair out of the confining ponytail and blurted, "I need help!" Surveying my tousled locks with a stern eye, manager-lady replied with an emphatic "YES. We help. Lots." and without further ado hustled me into a chair and whipped a cape around my shoulders.

Now before I booked the appointment, I got all sorts of hints and tips from my pals. "Be firm", I had been told. "Let them know that you've done your homework and that you know EXACTLY what you want." And so, I proceeded to describe in great detail my idea of the perfect cut. At the end of my (rather long winded) speech, manager-lady looks me square in the eyes in the mirror and says, "No. That makes you look crap. We do this....." and outlines her plan. Too stunned at her point blank refusal, I could only nod weakly at her ideas.

Like a seasoned pro, she began snipping away all the while keeping up a rapid fire line of questions:
- Where you from?
- What you do?
- Where are your Mummy-Daddy?
- You marry? No? No good.
- WHY you no brush hair??

My feeble attempts at viable responses were translated into Korean for the rest of the room and at each response there would be murmurs of approval (or not!). By the time she translated the final question, the consensus was unanimous and my lack of hair-care skills was loudly discussed with much clicking of the tongues and shaking of the heads.

The whole thing was over in what seemed like mere minutes. Perhaps it was because I had been so intent on answering the questions - and then defending my answers - that I had barely noticed that my hair had been cut, styled and set. And wow, I looked GOOD! Better still, when it came to the payment I was pleasantly surprised to find out that it was only $25. Apparently, the life lessons were thrown in for free.

As I thanked manager-lady and bid goodbye to the rest of the salon, her final words followed me out into the street. "Girl, you brush hair.... you find man!"

Sage advice indeed! 

5 Things I Really Want to Do this Summer

Summer in the T Dot is really quite wonderful. There are street festivals, farmers markets, free outdoor concerts, art events and much more. It really is quite amazing the sheer number of activities one city can pack in, and if anyone ever tells you they are bored.. well.. you know with certainty that they are just not trying!

Over the years of living in the city, I have taken advantage of many of the activities and still have only scratched the surface. This year, there are a couple of events that I am determined to finally experience and here are the top 5.

1. A Dream in High Park: A perennial favourite with Toronto residents, Shakespeare's A Midsummer's Night's Dream  is staged each summer in High Park. Tickets are priced at PWYC with performances running from late June - early September. Sitting under the trees and listening to the immortal words of the Bard seem to be the perfect way to spend a Summer's evening. A wee cheeky sip of vino during the performance wouldn't be too bad either!

2. ROM Walks: 12 amazing walks around the downtown core filled with tid bits about history and the evolving culture of the city. And all FREE!

3. Kayaking along the shore: Something I thought I'd get done in Vancouver last year, but unfortunately life hadn't counted on Beer Baron having a torn rotator cuff which effectively put him out of commission for any paddling activities. Checking out the T Dot's iconic skyline from a unique vantage point would certainly be interesting. Too bad I won't be able to take my camera along!

4. Dancing in the street: Salsa on St. Claire, the Beaches Jazz festival and Caribanna. All amazing opportunities to bust a groove out in the open. Just what these hips need!

5. Movie in the Square: Dundas Square hosts classic movie nights. Just like the drive in... minus the cars and noxious fumes. Then again, it is downtown T Dot; Noxious fumes are part of the landscape!

So, this is the plan. Check back at the end of summer for an update on how successful I have been!

Morning Musings

Mornings are most often my Nemesis. They come creeping out of the dark and calm of the night, steal into my dreams and shake me awake from the comfort of dreamland. Morning commutes are the invention of the devil. Every late bus, surly transit work, annoying fellow commuter and gloomy rainy-day becomes a trial by fire experience. And if this is all pre coffee... well... Guantanamo Bay torture would be preferable.

The commute from the new apartment is trying to change all of this. I might not become a morning person (that would take an act of God), but I sure am liking the entire drag-self-out-of-bed-and-get-hiney-in-to-work process a lot more. 

For starters, the streetcar stop is almost right outside my front door. I climb on and have a wide selection of seats because the line begins just a few stops up from my place. Once my bags and bits have been arranged, and my earphones have been popped in, I settle down to the gaze out the windows at the fun views going past. Over the 40 minute ride into down town, we pass twee shops that are just opening up; shutters being raised and welcome mats shaken. Mummys and Daddies herd packs of children along to schools holding satchels and lunch bags while the kids skip ahead or lag behind in direct relation to their morning temperament and the amount of completed homework. We go past the the morning dog walker out with his/her bestie. Crossing guards wave at the streetcar driver; they've both been on the same beat for a while it would seem.

At the end of the ride, I get off the streetcar just before it makes the loop back on an eastbound route. The driver rings the bell as the last person exits. *Ding Ding* And just like that, my commute is done! 

Summer in the City

The Only Constant

Last summer my parents finally got down to replacing the front bay window. They took away the old one which was the original window from when the house was built back in the 60s and also (thankfully) got rid off the butt-freaking-ugly awning that resided over the window. This spring my dad and brother revamped the garden putting in flower beds and planting a plethora of perennials and annuals that have totally transformed both the backyard as well as the front garden into a riot of colour and beauty.

When talking to my mum earlier today she told me that they've just finalised with a contractor with regards to doing up the kitchen. The old and outdated flooring, counters and cabinets are all going; new appliances are moving in and the old walls are literally getting busted down to make way for a window/counter top looking into the dining room.

We knew that there was work to be done when we bought the house. Some of these changes were long overdue; we didn't even have a properly working dishwasher for crying out loud and the backyard had been a tangle of weeds when we moved in. Everything was moving according to plan.

I love that my dad, the consummate gardener has the rose bushes that he has always wanted and that my mum will finally have a kitchen that is a help, not a hindrance. But I'm just a little sad that I'm not there to share in these little (and big) events. So much is changing. Will I even recognise places and people when I get back home?

But then again, so much has changed about me as well. I am, in many ways not the person I was when I left. Will they recognise me?

I'll be Home for Christmas, if Only in my Dreams

Every year around the first week of December, my mum goes in to Christmas overdrive. Boxes of decorations are pulled out from the cupboard-under-the-stairs; each one of them carefully labelled so that we know exactly what ornaments are inside. (I get my love of lists from her). The holly wreaths are draped around the banisters and along the front porch. Nativity scenes are set up. Yes, that was in the plural. We literally have one for every room in the house. The larger rooms sometimes have two or three. Only the washrooms are safe; but only until someone has the bright idea to manufacture Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus mini soaps.

And then of course, we have the centre piece of all Christmas activity: THE TREE.

When we lived in Bombay, VBF would come over and help me and my mom decorate the tree. As long as we were in Bombay for Christmas, this was our ritual for about 15 years. When we were packing for our move to Canada, we had to trim back on what we were taking with us. That included the decorations and tree ornaments. It was gut wrenching deciding which ones would go and which would get left behind. Our first Christmas in Canada, we didn't have a tree. We'd only just moved into our own apartment at the beginning of December and there were a lot of expenses. A tree was too much of a luxury that year. My mum and I were in total agreement about that. We decorated the rest of the apartment and settled down to a tree-less Christmas.

Only, we just couldn't do it! A few days before Christmas saw me and my mum dragging the dead branch off the sidewalk all the way back to the apartment and decorating it with all the tinsel and candy canes and ornaments we could find.

And we've never had to compromise on a tree ever again.

This year, my apartment is as un-Christmassy as it gets. Not a bauble or holly leaf or tinsel string in sight; I truly cannot afford to spend on anything that isn't directly related to food or shelter. But, since I'll be in Bombay in just a few days, I don't mind as much as I know that there will be all the Christmas I want waiting for me.

Back at the ranch, my mum began with the decorating last weekend. The little cousins were over to help her out. Together, they put up the tree and then sent along this picture so that I could give it my seal of approval. I think the kids did well, don't you?

Teenage Angst Revisited

As if the stressors described in the last post weren't enough, today my entire family descended on our house for a Canada Day/Farewell to Me party. Thankfully although we had rain clouds that moved in and out all afternoon, the actual rain held off and we could enjoy the day out in the back yard.

Apparently my body is not liking all of these recent stressors any more than I am. I woke up this morning with 3 strategically placed pimples on my mug. Terrific.

All of my family took pics with me today. Me and my 3 new pals. What a great remembrance!

This *could* be terrible

Why is it that the closer you are to life altering events, the more the potential for things to do drastically wrong? Is there some sort of warped timing fairy that decides to send along stress to ADD to existing stress? Why can't she just space it all out? As if its not enough that in a mere 15 days I leave my home, family, friends and most importantly steady employment to head off into the literal unknown. Now, add a slowly imploding Maternal Unit, stir in ambiguity around a bank statement that tells me I have $10,000 LESS than what I should have in my bank account and a garnish with a potential life altering injury to that mix, and you have the perfect cocktail a la Murphy's Law.

Although I'm (fairly) sure that the bank thingy is just an error and will sort itself out, I'm not that confident about the injury. Right now, it hurts too much and I'm petrified that its going to affect my departure AND my dancing. Both are equally important.

It all began a few weeks ago when I left dance class feeling that things were not quite OK with the big toe on my right foot. It felt like it needed to "crack" but try as I may, I couldn't get it to do so and that meant that every step I took caused a sharp pain in my foot.

I hobbled around for a day bemoaning my fate, but positive that it would "crack" and all would be well. Sure enough, 2 days later I was flexing my feet and felt the toe release and then there wasn't any pain as I walked.

Perfect!

Then, yesterday at dance class I did a routine spin turn and felt a sharp stabbing pain shoot through my entire foot like a white hot iron had been pushed against my toe. The pain was just too much and I had to leave class. Somehow I got home.

It was slightly better this morning, but again, I thought it would just sort itself out, so I headed out to work. By the time I got off the subway downtown, my foot was throbbing so much that I could feel the vibrations in my neck! The closest chiropractor was luckily across the road from my office and I headed over.

He poked. He prodded. He asked me a hundred questions.
He moved my foot right, and then left.
He made me flex up. And then down.
He took a tuning fork and held it to my toe. I was tempted to sing in the key of C sharp.

He looked up. I held my breath.

Its a strained tendon, maybe even torn. You'll be in pain for a while, but it will heal and then everything should be ok.

I beamed, and started to breathe normally again.

Rest it as much as possible, ice it regularly and no dancing for at least 2 months.

There goes my performance dance next week. 3 months of practice down the crapper. And that's barely enough time for me to recover before the trip to Israel - that guarantees a lot of walking around. And HOW am I going to get all of my packing and last minute preps done if I'm supposed to not walk around at all?

There's just too much cloud right now. I can't find the silver lining.

And the Embarrassment Continues.....

Unwilling to let my previous experience at Pilates deter me from achieving that flat(er) tummy that I craved and the mind-body balance that I was so obviously lacking, I headed off to my second class yesterday. Determined not to find myself in the same predicament as the last time, I had carefully monitored what I ate all day and was confident that there was nothing in me that would feel the need for er... manifestation as I did the exercises.

On entering the room I found myself in a sea of blonde haired, size -0 Lululemon wearing girls. while my $15 Walmart pants seemed to scream bargain basement in comparison. Also, how was it that these girls who were supposedly dressed down for an exercise class looked more put together than I did when I went out to meetings with clients? But I was a little late, and the instructor was already calling for attention, so I hurriedly unrolled my mat and decided to ponder the mysteries of creation another time.

Just as the class was about to begin, another student ran in and settled herself just behind me. As we worked our way through the hour I could tell that she seemed to be having the same kinds of problems as I with understanding the exercises and holding certain poses; and I was oddly comforted by this! At the end of the hour I turned to her and with a big beaming smile said, Oh, I'm SO glad you were in class today! At least there was someone else in here that wasn't thin as a rail!
As she straightened up to face me, I could feel all of the blood drain away from my face. Oh no! I'd basically just called a perfect stranger a fatty!!! That sentence had sounded WAY better in my head, but it was too late. I'd said it. It was out. And in a second she would process what I said and think I was the rudest person alive!

Mumbling incoherently about having to leave, I ducked out of the room as fast as I could get around the other students. Not wanting to risk meeting her in the changing room I took my bags and scampered right out of the building thinking that perhaps the fart would have been the lesser embarrassment after all.

Socially Awkward Moment # 653

I've been recently reading about a blogger friend's travels in the land of the leprechaun and apart from the description of the beauty of the hills and little towns and general countryside, she's been talking about the food! Apparently, in Ireland, a guest is not being properly treated unless he/she is being constantly plied with food and drink in large (and alarming) quantities. In that respect I guess Irish people are very similar to my Nana! Beans has told me much about the legendary Irish breakfasts (2 fried eggs, 2 rashes of bacon, 2 sausages, 2 fried tomatoes, white pudding, black pudding and coffee. Followed by a light serving of cardiac arrest) that he regularly consumes. But the part that most worried me is that I was going to be living with him for a month or so, and what wretched effect was all that food going to have on me???? Of course, as luck would have it I'm dating Mr. High Metabolism himself and in spite of stuffing his face silly with all sorts of fried foods washed down with copious amounts of Guinness, the boy is irritatingly thin as a... well.... beanpole!

Just as I was pondering my inevitable oversized fate, I get a call from the yoga studio down the road to remind me that I had a prepaid card of 18 classes that I had bought last year and it was about to expire in August. Eureka! I'd go back to the studio and use up the card before I leave so that even if I bloat horribly after, at least I'd get to Scotland looking reasonably good!

And so, I set off to my first class yesterday after work.
Pilates Mat? Check!
Water bottle? Check!
Workout clothes? Check!
Can-do attitude? Double check!

Five minutes into the class I realised why I'd stopped going to Pilates in the first place.

For starters, I couldn't figure out if I was supposed to be breathing in or out at specific points and most of the time I was just trying to catch my breath if anything. Also, I didn't really remember what any of the exercises or poses were called, so while everyone else was tranquilly doing deep breathing exercises while holding Angel Arms over a C Curve, I on the other hand was constantly secretly peeking through half closed lids to figure out what all that mumbo-jumbo meant! And in any case, I couldn't manage most of the exercises anyway coz my amply distributed fat kept getting in the way of me and the desired effect.

But the worse hit about half way through the class when I knew....just KNEW that I was going to fart! And there was not a damn thing I could do to stop it!

I tried to hold it in for as long as possible, but seriously have YOU tried to hold on to a *parp* while simultaneously doing what in effect is pumping you stomach up and down to create the air in the first place?? It's simply not possible.

Desperately I looked around. Serene pilates poses everywhere. I could feel it slipping out, and with every iota of my being I prayed that it was a silent killer and not a trumpet solo. At least with the former there was a chance of plausible deniability! And yes, I was trying to keep my features as neutral as possible. Even harder!

Thankfully, it was a silent one. Not sure if it were killer or not (since it went away from me) but as the minutes passed and no one reacted, I started to breathe again.

Not sure if that's what they meant by letting out your inner peace, but hell I'd take it!

Can you say F-U-G-L-Y?

My neighbours two doors down are a lovely congenial Sri Lankan family - Ma, Pa, 3 kids and Grandpa. They're always smiling and waving at folks who walk by. They send over sweets and delicacies to us on Hindu festivals. They are keen gardeners and in my personal experience people who are loving and nurturing gardeners, are generally loving and nurturing towards other human beings. They are quite and orderly and MOST IMPORTANTLY never hold loud rave parties. All key attributes you want in a neighbour.

The catch?

An unfortunate sense of home and garden decor. I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

Ah well, could be worse I suppose. Right?

Starry Starry Night

On Friday night, I met up with a friend with whom I had not had ANY contact with for the past 2 years, but when we meet it was like no time has passed at all. Peaches (unfortunate name from his high school days that just stuck) and I caught up on each others adventures on a sun kissed patio over some fine brews and good food.

On Friday night after Peaches and I said goodbye, I headed over to a West Coast Swing dance and hit the floor for 3 hours straight. I wondered, how is it that I can be a sexy inhibited dancing QUEEN here, but am all legs and arms and awkward as hell each time I do the Rumba? Same level of "sexy" required for both dances. Huuuum.

On Friday night, I left the dance hall tired and sweaty and instead of hopping on the subway, I took a detour and a midnight streetcar ride. The driver had a little transistor radio on and the music of Cole Porter hummed gently.

On Friday night I finally got home at 2am and realised that Friday night was long gone. Saturday was here.

Stupid Parents = Stupider Children. Help stop this cycle of destruction!!

By most accounts, Queen Victoria was a cranky old bat who lived and reigned far longer than she should have. Still, I cannot help but feeling a surge of love for the old girl every spring when we are graced with a much coveted day off on the 3rd Monday of May in celebration of her birthday.

I was supposed to head over to Shutterbug's place on Saturday for a pot luck + communal viewing of Eurovision 2009. Most ashamed to say that I had never even HEARD of Eurovision until she sent out the invite a few weeks ago and even then, I had to go google it! Who knew this had been going on for almost 50 years??? Beans scoffed at the whole concept, but was also quick to point out that Ireland had apparently won the most times! (funny boy!). Anyway, that's where I had planned to be on Saturday afternoon, thinking that it would a great addition towards my Preparing to Live in Europe series. But, life turned out differently and thanks to some majorly yucky sensations in my tummy I was huddled in bed until late afternoon. Texts back and forth t'ween Beans (who was in Ft. Williams at an Iron Man contest with some mutual friends) and I made me feel heaps better and by that evening.

Sunday morning dawned bright and beautiful and it seemed a pity to waste such a glorious day indoors. A quick bout of calls to Beer Baron, Trippy and Lady Killer had us all heading out to the Toronto Zoo where we spent a de-lightful afternoon animal gazing. Not so de-lightful however was fighting our way through the crowds and crowds of families each with a couple of strollers that were close in size to a mini humvi! Apparently, "I have a kid" is a good enough reason for every parent to abandon all rules of polite social conduct - such as waiting in line - and push and shove ones way to the front. This would make sense in a situation with only ONE person with a kid/stroller such as at a bus stop or subway, but doesn't really work the same when about 20 people around you ALSO have over sized stroller filled offspring. Trippy and I kept hoping that a couple of the parents would get into an all out stroller battle and we would have been so ready with a play by play commentary!

The abundance of species Parentus Stupidus made us realize just why there are so many kids who grow up to be total douchbags; really, they cannot help it after the constant interaction with douchbag parents throughout the formative years of their life. Case in point, at the Artic Wolves paddock, Parentus Stupidus # 1 to her youngins: Oh look at the cute white doggie boys. His name is Wolf.

And a few years from now, we will hear about this same kid being mauled by a grizzly on a camping trip because he went to play with the little brown bear that was just like Teddy.

Rude Awakenings

Drifting in and out of a comfortable Saturday morning dream, I could hear that pitter patter of the rain outside my window. I drew the comforter closer around me and burrowed deeper into the bed. An almighty clap of thunder jarred me right out of my reverie and brought the harsh light of day into focus.

Except, that that light was muted and subdued, even though the curtains were pulled back. I opened my eyes wider and saw that the sky was dark with angry clouds and the rain wasn't a pleasant pitter patter anymore, rather a vicious lashing force working with a wind that bent the maple tree to ominous angles. I was still taking this all in when I head a rumbling. Thunder, it wasn't. It sounded more like a monster version of a garbage truck was making its way down my street. I peered out of the bay window, puzzled.

And then, jumped back in alarm as hundreds upon thousands of missiles suddenly landed on the lawn in front of me with an intensity that made them bounce back up and slap against the window pane. For the next 5 minutes the air was filled with the rat-tat-tat of these heavenly bullets striking against the driveway, the sidewalk, the parked cars and the roofs.

And then, just as suddenly as it arrived, it ceased. The rain lessened to a muffled hum and then that too stopped. And only then did I creep back to the window to take stock of my battered world.
Pictures by a friend, LK.

Back and Blue and Brown all over

A couple of weekends ago I helped Beer Baron and his lady love (LL) move into a new apartment conversion loft unit. Over 2 days, BB, Trippy, LL and myself hauled, moved, pushed and tugged at various pieces of furniture and umpteen boxes and other assorted odds and ends that left me with some spectacular bruises all over my arms, torso and legs. Some of these movable units included custom made red leather cowboy boots, 3 microwaves (when the new place has a built in one), 2 racer bikes (one of which has not been ridden in 3 years) and 4 egg cartons of hand painted 40 year old Ukrainian Easter eggs.

All moves have their up and downs, but this one was particularly eventful. Like when one of the couches slipped out of my hands on the way down the stairs and ended up pinning Trippy to the wall at the bottom. Or when we got to the new place and had the truck semi unloaded, the skies ominously darkened and a gale force wind took up whipping around any and all loose debris and pelting us with gravel from a nearby construction site. It was like being in a war zone and having shrapnel flying at us! If that wasn't enough, the wind somehow activated the fire alarm in not one, not two... but THREE adjoining buildings causing their collective sirens to ring for the next 20 minutes and then ring in our ears for the next 3 hours... give or take!

By day two, we were all physical and emotional wrecks so thankfully Lady Killer dropped by to help on Sunday afternoon or else there would have been a couple o corpses to add to the pile in their living room.

Somewhere in between, Beer Baron decided that it was getting too hot (this was pre storm) and with the aid of the moving dolly and the combined efforts of Trippy and LL he managed to get one of the loft windows open. The whole operation looked rather like a rehearsal for a Cirque du Soleil routine and of course, we HAD to take a picture!

It's been 2 weeks now and we're not sure if they've figured out how to close that window again!

Look Who's Talking (Again)

This weekend was packed solid with a visiting out-of-town cousin, attending my first wedding shower that turned out better than expected (primarily because I won a game), Trippy's birthday celebrations that included some interesting interactions with a group of guys out on a stag night. And as icing on this festive weekend cake - comparing and executing games at a friend's daughter's communion party. I've only just returned from the party and am utterly pooped!

It did help that I had terrific hair ALL WEEKEND LONG. How rare is that!

Also, was pleasantly surprised to see two bloggers had returned after a long extended hiatus. CB/Mrs. Pirate and Miss Melville - glad to have you back.

The Darling Buds of May

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
- Sonnet XVIII, Shakespeare

Photos taken around my neighbourhood this sunny weekend afternoon.

Irony

I'd been meaning to cancel my gym membership for some time now seeing as a) I would no longer need their services in Scotland and b) my dancing was giving me all the exercise I needed at this time.

Accordingly, I trotted off at lunch today to get the paperwork done. The customer service rep at the gym was obligated to ask me a laundry list of questions before he would just terminate my account. I was in a particularly cheerful mood, so I started off obligingly, but by page 3 boredom set in and I started making up answers. He must have sensed this - I had just stated that the dimensions of the yoga studio were not in accordance to my religion - and so asked if I could give him a final statement re my reason for discontinuing the membership.

My answer: I can now fit into a size 10 pair of jeans, and that is enough to make me happy.

I left the gym and walked into the Tim Horton's next door and bought a chocolate doughnut.