Well. I have not a dingy dung-a-roo damn thing to show for it.

We ended up not going “out”, and instead stayed in together the next afternoon…and drank wine. But you will be pleased to know that I only had about three glasses and then Tony and I went home and fell asleep. At 7pm.

But this is totally okay because it just means that I have crossed that imaginary line into adulthood where getting dressed to go out really means not wearing pajama bottoms and “partying” is synonymous with sitting around a kitchen table talking about baby names and drinking wine with two other couples.

Also, Miss’s Romanian grandmother who speaks very little English gave us all the low-down on our physiques, and by giving us the low-down, what I really mean is she told us we were fat. Some of us, anyway. According to her, I could stand to lose 5-7 pounds, and when she looked at Tony she said, “oh, he okay!”. So now I am more motivated than ever to lose weight so that when I show up at Miss’s wedding I can go ask Baba if I’m still fat. She’s like the daily horoscope; you don’t know how accurate it is, but you have a junkie need to check it regularly.

And…this morning on the bus a man was furiously picking his nose as if no one could see him. It reminded me of the times my brother would do the same thing, except my brother was eight, and this man was fifty. I was placing imaginary bets with myself that he would eat his boogers, but he must have felt me staring at him because he stopped picking and turned to look around nervously. I smiled at him as if to say, “I see what you are doing and yes, I’m laughing at you.”

I may not post much this week, as I have my last Anatomy test on Thursday and I need to make the most of my time right now. So if you need me, I’ll be reading the new Harry Potter book and alphabetizing my CD collection.

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