"Lashes, can you take a picture of my new coat?"
Lashes? You can go back to Pokémon in a minute"
"Pff, Dialga is about to combat Nosferapti!"
"Do you WANT your pocket money?"
"Ug, pff. Hmm. Here you go"
"Uh, thank you?"
Next! Eyebrows. No longer orange. Well, unless you look too closely. You wouldn't want to do that anyway, because:
(a) my eyelids of a woman three times my age would scare you witless; and
(b) I might poke you. I am a woman on the edge! Two weeks holiday with what appears to be a herd of ill-disciplined spider monkeys. Do NOT invade my personal space.
Closely followed by new hair.
Thank you whoever sold their hair for me, I hope you were handsomely remunerated, but I doubt it. Lovely. It's a bit pouffy and voluminous right now, but I will squash it into submission soon enough. It's already been coated in chocolate milk and hot dog and glitter glue, so it's well on its way to being tamed. At least I can go out in high winds without fearing for my elaborate comb-over.
Ok, you've suffered enough, here comes the good bit. Now! Last year, when we went to the Brussels Christmas market, I was so enchanted by these roundabouts that I felt I needed to share them with the world. I couldn't, of course. I just tried to explain them badly to everyone I met ("a giant beetle! a pterodactyl skeleton! a giant squid!) . Now, I can show you why Belgian children have the happiest childhoods in the world, despite their soviet education system. I mean, if I had had the chance to ride a giant rearing stag beetle in my childhood I would have renounced all rights to whine about how awful my life was for EVER. I tried to tell Lashes this.
Fingers waited about forty minutes to choose his ride. He went for the hot air balloon, eventually, after refusing to share anything with a long haired boy who he insisted was a girl. Like his father, he clearly belongs in the clearly delineated certainties of the nineteen fifties.
He just asked for another hot dog, fifty three euros, a trip in the inflatable Lithuanian ice monster and five disposable hand warmers. He is crushing me with his exuberance at the moment, and I love it. Phew, he's not definitively broken yet then. At one point when I was melting down gently he said "fucking hell?", helpfully, in a questioning fashion, as if that might be the phrase I was searching for. Precisely. You took the words right out of my mouth. We also discussed Nathan's imminent birthday, with considerable mutual confusion.
I AM having fun. This is my happy face.
Chameleon (moving tongue and eyes)
I don't think these really convey the magnificence. They are so beautiful. I wish I was five. Come to Brussels and ride the beetle!