The Kiss of Life
Oct. 15th, 2013 11:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyWhen I arrived at work yesterday, I discovered that I had sent myself an email at 1:17am Saturday. Subject line: Paper aeroplanes. No message. I really must have been unwell, because I have (a) no recollection of doing this or (b) no idea what I meant.
We went out for a farewell lunch for a colleague today. We had a farewell lunch for her last year when she left to go overseas, but then she came back, and now she is going again. I sort of resent having to think of two things to write in a card. It's hard enough thinking of one. Anyway. Good luck to her.
Lunch, though. I ordered a twice-baked goat's cheese soufflé. I noticed on the menu that other things mentioned if they came with salad or vegetables or whatever, but the soufflé didn't. So I asked, just to make sure, then ordered a salad too. Which was just as well, because the soufflé, though tasty, was tiny, smaller than my pumice stone, which is no help to you as a measurement. As big as a toad? A bit larger than a large mouse? Perhaps not the best comparisons there. At least the salad was plentiful, taking up a large, rectangular plate. Plentiful, but not... it was a plate of iceberg lettuce, always my least favourite of the salad leaves. Not the tender leaves, either, but the thick exterior ones. It had six paper-thin slices of radish and six chunks of cucumber, and one lettuce leaf had some chopped chives in it. That's not much of a salad, is it?
Back home, the Christmas with Innovations catalogue arrived today. It featured the sentence Slate - the perfect temperature for cheese!, which is neither a sentence nor a sentiment I have ever considered.
We went out for a farewell lunch for a colleague today. We had a farewell lunch for her last year when she left to go overseas, but then she came back, and now she is going again. I sort of resent having to think of two things to write in a card. It's hard enough thinking of one. Anyway. Good luck to her.
Lunch, though. I ordered a twice-baked goat's cheese soufflé. I noticed on the menu that other things mentioned if they came with salad or vegetables or whatever, but the soufflé didn't. So I asked, just to make sure, then ordered a salad too. Which was just as well, because the soufflé, though tasty, was tiny, smaller than my pumice stone, which is no help to you as a measurement. As big as a toad? A bit larger than a large mouse? Perhaps not the best comparisons there. At least the salad was plentiful, taking up a large, rectangular plate. Plentiful, but not... it was a plate of iceberg lettuce, always my least favourite of the salad leaves. Not the tender leaves, either, but the thick exterior ones. It had six paper-thin slices of radish and six chunks of cucumber, and one lettuce leaf had some chopped chives in it. That's not much of a salad, is it?
Back home, the Christmas with Innovations catalogue arrived today. It featured the sentence Slate - the perfect temperature for cheese!, which is neither a sentence nor a sentiment I have ever considered.