We are anniversarying in gorgeous Victoria, BC. Yesterday we wandered about, took pictures of anything that remotely interested us (including J with the ferry mast growing out of his head and the flying fish roe I spilled at the Sushi restaurant we fell in love with last night).
Turning on the TV last night we found hockey and today it's men's figure skating. When in Rome, eh.
What does that move mean anyway, where a skaterix (oh excuse me, I mean athlete) holds his open hand up in front of his face and slowly moves it downward, anyway? While wearing turqoise tights with an infinity symbol made of sequins on the ass? My butt is everlasting? There is no end to my buns? Wierd. But yes, if that's what our son eventually wants to do, we'll be out there shopping at the sequined-tights shop with all the other desperately supportive yuppy parents. Do people even use the word Yup anymore? Hmmm.
I am a bit out of it with no little lump of Toblerone along for the trip. I keep acosting people with infants, forcing them to listen to me gush about our left-behindlet. They back away slowly, strategically placing themselves between us and the stroller, performing the old nod-and-smile. I have somehow refrained from grabbing their offspring to hug, rock and smell.
Right, then, tally-ho, cheerio. We're off to get some Starbucks- can you believe they have 2 in one block just like Salem? We'll save a seat for you, Dad.