Yesterday I met my friend for our monthly tea party. Only I didn't get tea, I requested the largest and hottest hot chocolate in the history of hot chocolate. Preferrably one that eclipsed the temperature of the earth's molten core. At least, that's how I described my order to the barista. Her reaction, her barely concealed ennui and pierced, hovering brow, made it clear I would be getting the regular hot chocolate on the menu.
Oh well. That's what an imagination is for.
It's just that I was partially frozen from an early morning bike ride wherein I was hailed upon. Hailed, dear reader. And if you want to mollify me, please leave a comment below expressing horror over this fact, accompanied by a plethora of exclamation marks. I'm still looking for a satisfactory reaction, since everyone else I told it to seemed rather less fazed, as if being Canadian entails having the fine print of one's contract read being pelted by tiny rocks of ice is par for the course.
At any rate, how good it was to see my friend! I finally brought her the Christmas present I've been promising, one of the terrariums I made back in the month of January.
Please, there is no need to point out the faltering logic of the last sentence...it is not lost on me.
Sadly, my choice of terrariums was limited by the fact this was the only one left still clinging to life. It would appear my prowess as a gardener may hardly be described as prowess, after all. It may only be described as the opposite of such. My friend, however, is a doctor, so I have high hopes she'll succeed where I failed.
She also has two-year-old triplets. I told her to ask the kids if they can spy the little old man who lives in the tiny white house which, in toddler talk, translates to: who can be the first to break Mummy's new toy?