I started out today all crabbypants, which is hardly news to most of you. But the snow made me happy, believe it or not. I put the flannel sheets on my bed last night, which makes me insanely happy. So, snow is good, and I believe it's time to start channeling my mother's indomitable festive spirit. That lady owned Christmas. Note to Roz: get out the recipes.
I trundled my butt off to Ottawa Street in Hamilton late this afternoon. Ari and I spent most of the day wrestling with his essay on 1984. Which is the last time I read it. I always re-read whatever the boys are working on in class, but now I'm just reminded of how much I hate science fiction. Argh.
In Hamilton, I lucked out with parking right in front, which is good because I always buy pillows and they're huge and fumbly and it's a pain to carry them any distance. The parking was free - bonus! And then I looked up. My favourite motorcycle boot and leather shop is on Ottawa Street. Riders Solutions. Well, taking the free parking right out front as an omen, I went in. And ten minutes later, walked out. With a new pair of gorgeous Harley Davidson boots parked under my arm. I am weak. So sue me.
I'm making dinner. Marinating chicken in something, and I just opened a little bag of tiny potatoes. I have parsley. As I'm washing the potatoes, I notice I've bought a mixed bag. White, red and purple. The white and red look normal, but the purple ones look like little bruises. I wonder who invented purple potatoes. And I wonder why.
At dinner, I noted that one of the potatoes was shaped like a heart. Awwwwwww. Presuming this would be a nice moment for the Young In-Loves (Christer and Pam), I pointed it out. "Hey," said Ari. "It looks like testicles." The moment died.
Maggie is sitting here insisting that yes, yes she does like teryaki chicken. I am ignoring her, and have decided more wine is in order.
It's been one of those days.
*I added the pic to prove how sensible it was that I purchased those boots. Sensible.