Fateful Skirt Day & Other Adventures

Someday, I hope to grow up and be successful. By successful I mean skirting a desk job. Ideally, in the skinny ring of 30 latitudinal degrees around the equator.

I also will be rich. Really rich. Mangos for breakfast, PB&J for lunch, liche for a snack, spaghetti or fresh thai vegetable rolls for dinner, and mango and sticky rice for dessert every night kind of rich.

All of my clothes will fit into a suitcase (as I will own no cold weather clothes), have mastered the art of international calls (as well as the art of conveniently misplacing my phone as an act of deviance), and accept that my hair will be very dirty quite often. Showers will fall under the definition of indulgence in my personal dictionary (oh wait, they already are!).

Things on my bucket list will be crossed off such as:
    - own a dirt bike
    - see U2 live
    - sneak up on a fainting goat
    - ride a camel
    - get a prison tattoo (fear not relatives, this does not necessarily entail getting arrested)
    - ride something across Africa
    - read Brothers Karamazov
    - learn to play the violin, djembe, piano, and cello
    - learn the tango
    - see Christ the Redeemer statue
    - go to the Amazon River
    - climb Kilimanjaro

I used to think lists like this were dumb because the actual event could be so anticlimactic and disappointing but then as I lived life in between checking a few things off, I realized it just gives you a goal along the journey. Plus, if your expectations are low, you'll probably be tickled pink to get to check something off your list. These things are always best with other people.

Today, however, my indulgence was peanut butter on a baby spoon. We have one jar of Wegmans Organic Crunchy Peanut Butter and I will lick it clean after it's been carefully scraped. Ian is a total food nazi and vehemently glares around my hostage Nook every time I sheepishly return the jar to his area of the room. Actually, Ian left this morning and so in a moment of weakness, I ate the Cadbury bar I bought for him. Fear not, I intend to brave the grocery store again to buy more food. We have half a refrigerator full of eggs (not all are ours), half an onion, some spinach, mushrooms, Wheatabix, and garlic powder. I'm thinking omlets for dinner.

Last grocery trip was unnerving. Usually I thrive in nightlife and culturally diverse environments. That time, I was already on edge from arguing with Ian and walking all day but became flustered when coconut yoghurt and garlic were no where to be found. To make matters worse, it appeared that everything on the shelves had been opened and raided.

We've only been gone about three weeks.

I'm ready to be done sightseeing which Ian doesn't understand either. This is his big trip to explore which I can be a total buzz kill about. As he's dwarfed by the doors of these ancient buildings and contemplating how men could make such an edifice, I'll be sitting in on the traffic wall testing fate and watching the old couple make out while their kids take a picture. Sweet memories.

Yesterday Ian opted to stay home so I returned to the Camden Town markets in search of the hoodie Ian despised and talked me out of buying. Shopping is so objectionable to me in most cases that I avoid doing it with other people for all of our sakes. But on this day I was quickly reminded how handy men can be for a couple instances where having a boyfriend to grab would have had immense advantages and provided some entertainment. All due to the skirt Michelle gave me...