Inclement weather always reminds me of the Netherlands, where I lived for sixteen years. Yes, naturally I still speak Dutch, but I should mention that we spoke English at home. Usually. My parents were Americans, and I was born in the United States. We went over to Europe when I was two-and-a-half.
And when I say we spoke English at home (usually), what I mean is that in a household of avid readers, odd locutions abounded. Various imports from other languages were part of the word-hoard.
English. German. Dutch. Danish. Erse Gaelic. Old Norse. Yiddish. Indonesian. Latin. Chaucerian Middle-English. Anglo-Saxon. Russian. Hindustani. Et mult altres.
It's a wonder that we communicated at all.
This, too, came flooding back, as I wandered around the shopping district this afternoon. As someone who seldom visits the area, all the terms of modern retail and the fashion industry inform me that I am verbally handicapped.
Louboutin, Kors, Britex, Jimmy Choo, Marni, American Apparel.
Pillows, blankets, and comforters, by Ralph Lauren.
Zoolilly, Naturalizer, Ugg Becket.
The Coffee Revølution.
When DID the clothing departments at Macy's get taken over by Filipinas and bearded gay opera stars?
In passing I note that women's sleepwear is evenly divided between pole stripper slut and totally ridiculous. No, I didn't bother checking out the sizes, I'm sure none of it would suit me.
The only reason I was there was because I had finished my bowl of tobacco, and my fingers were starting to show Rainaud's Condition.
Also known as "zombie hands".
[The pipe was a sandblasted Peterson system that I bought twenty four years ago in Eindhoven. The tobacco was an orange-red broken flake (McClelland's No. 27).]
This may sound old-fashioned: when it comes to women's bedroom garb and underclothing, I prefer something that looks innocent and neat over crazed sex bunny outfits, Hello Kitty crap, or leering scarlet harlot.
And, in this weather, flannel jammies are best.
I headed back home, and was safely ensconced, by the time it really started coming down. It's soggy out there. At this very moment I am enjoying a warm cup of coffee-tea mixed with sweetened condensed milk. My apartment mate has not returned yet, it is peaceful and quiet within, and the rain provides a steady and comforting background.
Perhaps I should retire early for the night.
Toasty warm.
It would be nice to snuggle in the dark on a night like tonight (wearing flannel jammies, of course), but I'm sure the stuffed animals would kick up a ruckus. Poke, prod, grumble, and utter insults. They're rather territorial about the bed, and seem to think that they own it.
I don't have the heart to kick them out.
They "tolerate" me.
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