So, I lie to children.
And, by that I mean lovingly lead them down the proverbial garden path.
As in, "Suuuuuuure, being a mermaid is a completely realistic and viable career path."
Or, "This crystal pendant I'm wearing has magic healing properties so, you cannot kill me with that plastic lightsaber. Unless you eat up all your rice. Then, you're invincible."
I love that moment of hesitation when they look at you thinking, "She wouldn't lie to me, right? Not about something so important?"
So today, my not-so-little Bro Bro is moving into a new apartment.
With a girl.
Now, you'd think that, on this most auspicious of days, I'd have a veritable dossier of sage advice on the mysteries of the female psyche to hand over.
I do not.
Mostly because compiling all that information would be so deeply boring. But also because growing up with yours truly was practical experience enough, one hopes.
All right. This is going to sound utterly ridiculous but, sometimes, I get this funny, fizzy feeling in my tummy right before something amazing and/or exciting happens.
Just the other day, I was telling Bro Bro that something fizzy this way comes and, this afternoon, a perfectly lovely gentleman wandered into the store nearly giving me a coronary.
The only coherent sentence my mind could form was, "Holy $#!+, the Kingmaker just walked in. So, this is how it ends."
May is happening. The tulips are out. As are my dresses.
I've been wearing them every single day in defiant protest against any and all rain clouds that deign to obscure this lovely sunshine we've been having.
A few sidelong glances from strangers aside, I think it's been working - this completely mental, arm wrestling match with Mother Nature.
Ah, life and it's double-edged swords.
Take Google Earth, for example.
On the one hand, it's quite creepy what those satellites can capture. And the resolution is only getting better.
On the flip side, though, there are amazingly creative people out there who use it to make things like "Night Walk in Marseilles" - where you get to go on a guided tour of a little French neighbourhood famous for it's street art.
Do you know what the word for microwave is in Wales?
Popty Ping.
Was there ever a more appropriate name for something? In my head, I'm picturing Anthony Hopkins saying it in that gravitas manner of his.
Ah, these little colloquial ins and outs - they're what I live for ; )
It has recently come to my attention that Sean "P. Puff Diddy Daddy" Combs and I have more in common than bling and hoes.
Apparently, we both L♥VE Downton Abbey - isn't it wonderful how little things like that bring us all together?
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