The interconnectedness of all things.
When we announced our plans to travel, I consciously decided not to make this weblog a travelblog. And now that I'm engaged to be married, I refuse to make this a weddingblog -I hate those, and I'm sure you do, too.
However!
I simply cannot prevent tiny tidbits about both those events (the travelling and the upcoming wedding) trickling through the seams and showing up on your screen.
Such as now.
Two wholly unrelated stories. Or so it seems.
One.
Australia appears to be the place where bookstores go to die. The place is literally teeming with tiny second-hand book stores; they're all over the place. Sure, they have their massive conglomerates, like Borders and Dymocks, which are fun, but it's those shabby-looking little shops tucked away in the nooks and crannies of the cities and towns where the real fun is to be had. Whenever my girlfriend now avidly starts pointing across the street because supposedly she noticed something worth seeing in that direction, I now know that in the opposite direction, there's a bookstore she doesn't want me to see. Because I have to go and have a look in each and every single one of them.
Point in case:
- Stephen King's Different Seasons - $3 (dollars of the Australian variety, mind).
- Clive Barker's Abarat (a lovely illustrated hardcover edition) - $4.
- Umbero Eco's Foucault's Pendulum - $8.
The list goes on and on.
Two.
When I first met my girlfriend, some seven years ago, her mother mentioned, jokingly, that it'd take a big bouquet of a certain sort of flower before I could have her daughter. Fresias, they were called. So, when I proposed to Marianne last week I decided to make good on the promise, and have a big bouquet of these flowers delivered at her mum's home address, signed by me.
Nice touch, huh?
So, how do these two unrelated stories relate? Bear with me.
One + two.
Yesterday I received a voicemail from Marianne's mother, in which she told me that, yes, I can finally 'have' her daughter. And a few days earlier, I learned that the entire deal, buying the flowers, the note, having them delivered, cost me 31 euros. So, when I related her mother's voicemail back to Marianne, yesterday, she smiled, and said something similar to the following:
"Well, 31 euros for me, isn't that the best deal you've ever had?"
To which I replied something along the lines of:
"We're travelling through a country where they sell 3 dollar books on every street corner. This is not the right place to be asking me this question."
She was not amused. Party pooper.
Cheers
However!
I simply cannot prevent tiny tidbits about both those events (the travelling and the upcoming wedding) trickling through the seams and showing up on your screen.
Such as now.
Two wholly unrelated stories. Or so it seems.
One.
Australia appears to be the place where bookstores go to die. The place is literally teeming with tiny second-hand book stores; they're all over the place. Sure, they have their massive conglomerates, like Borders and Dymocks, which are fun, but it's those shabby-looking little shops tucked away in the nooks and crannies of the cities and towns where the real fun is to be had. Whenever my girlfriend now avidly starts pointing across the street because supposedly she noticed something worth seeing in that direction, I now know that in the opposite direction, there's a bookstore she doesn't want me to see. Because I have to go and have a look in each and every single one of them.
Point in case:
- Stephen King's Different Seasons - $3 (dollars of the Australian variety, mind).
- Clive Barker's Abarat (a lovely illustrated hardcover edition) - $4.
- Umbero Eco's Foucault's Pendulum - $8.
The list goes on and on.
Two.
When I first met my girlfriend, some seven years ago, her mother mentioned, jokingly, that it'd take a big bouquet of a certain sort of flower before I could have her daughter. Fresias, they were called. So, when I proposed to Marianne last week I decided to make good on the promise, and have a big bouquet of these flowers delivered at her mum's home address, signed by me.
Nice touch, huh?
So, how do these two unrelated stories relate? Bear with me.
One + two.
Yesterday I received a voicemail from Marianne's mother, in which she told me that, yes, I can finally 'have' her daughter. And a few days earlier, I learned that the entire deal, buying the flowers, the note, having them delivered, cost me 31 euros. So, when I related her mother's voicemail back to Marianne, yesterday, she smiled, and said something similar to the following:
"Well, 31 euros for me, isn't that the best deal you've ever had?"
To which I replied something along the lines of:
"We're travelling through a country where they sell 3 dollar books on every street corner. This is not the right place to be asking me this question."
She was not amused. Party pooper.
Cheers
2 Comments:
LOL. That was funny. You're funny sometimes, you know?
Aww, shucks.
I'm blushing now.
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