I prefer civilisation to nature, hence the true focus of the photo is the car in the background. Now go on, throw stones at me.
Month: Feb 2014
The Affection of Sweepers and Cleaners

I attract street sweepers and building cleaners. I wonder if it’s because I’m clean and neat or because I’m dirty and disordered. (My mirror says it’s the former. Hopefully.) I love that they love me but they scare me. Consider this.
The other day I was literally crawling in the street, busied with taking macro photos of cobblestones and minding my own business. Suddenly a voice behind my back said: “Whatyaupta?” I got a fright and dropped my camera on the cobble. “I’ll see when I see it,” I said tentatively in a tiny shivering voice. It was just a street sweeper. He smiled at me and said: “Ughuh.” (I think he meant “I see.”) His two front teeth were missing.
The next day I walked in a lift in a public building. There was someone inside already but all I saw was a vague silhouette because I don’t stare at people. The door shut. Suddenly my hand was firmly grabbed and there was a loud scream: “Aaww, what a cute colour!” I would have collapsed but I couldn’t because I was held. It was just a cleaning woman who really liked my nails. Still, I could hardly stir when she took the lift to the cellar, where she exited.
Something is fundamentally wrong. Is it me or is it the cleaning people? What’s your experience?
#211 Irresistible
Nigh(t)mare
My most horrible nightmare is obligatory physical education. I was living it and I emerged scathed for a lifetime.
In response to the WordPress Daily Prompt: Sweet Dreams.
Happiness
I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.
–Henry Miller
#210 Pinkberry
#209 Cone
Stray Hair Strand
Your last warning.
Get in the line
and no one gets cu-
-t.
On a Walk
Yesterday hubby and me went for a walk. This is unique in itself because it only happens once in four years or so. Like the Olympics.
When a group of random teenagers passing by respectfully wished us a good day, hubby sadly observed that we must have grown old. I was delighted, though, that kids finally stopped yelling obscenities at me and started to treat me as the little old lady that I am to them.
Here’s to teenagers, to whom you’re either dead or a zombie when you’re over thirty.
In response to FireBonnet’s Random Moments of Delight challenge #8.