Only related in that they are happening to me.
I've decided to marry a European. This isn't a new development, probably started about six years ago, but it gets more and more decided the older I get. The World Cup is the new propeller of this idea as soccer players are hot and more numerous overseas. American football, while made a beautiful feat of athleticism and masculinity by the Philadelphia Eagles, yields uglier dudes (Sorry, Donovan). Anyway, the brilliant idea supplied by my good friend Celia, was to apply for European citizenship. Cuz we don't need no mans. Or rather, she don't need no mans, because I do. However, two passports are better than one, so we're going to give it a shot. Horror stories of red tape coming soon.
I've taken up gymming again. Mostly because I've taken up profiteroles again. Homemade and seriously worth being the width of a small car for a couple of those suckers. However, three batches have appeared in the kitchen this week alone, so damage control must be done. Plus realistically I need to get a bit more fit so those fat-free footballers will notice me. My gym buddy is the lovely Celia, who was born with a terrible affliction that makes her skinny no matter what she eats. There is an old lady that comes to the gym as well and she scoots around the track with her walker. I must beg the question, "What is the point?" and where's the fun in getting old if you're not allowed to sit around, watch TV, and eat crap all day? but I do admire her commitment to fitness.
I accidentally agreed to go out on a date with someone three and a half years my junior. Accidentally because a) I didn't know his age, b) He doesn't look any younger than myself, c) He's nice and very cute, just a fetussssss! At my tender age of 22, that seems, uh, icky. Doesn't he know that you never ask a person out face-to-face!? That way the ask outee has time to decide if they really want to hang out with you and can make up an excuse to decline if the answer is "Not even worth a free meal"!!! Plus it seems ludicrous to willingly go out on a first date when ordering alcohol would just be considered rude. Which is a travesty in and of itself.
At least it's a change from my boss telling me I should go to pole dancing classes. He even offered to put a pole in the store for me to practice on.
I'm totally cute, guys. Tell all your European, soccer-playing friends.