EMPTY BUILDINGS

In retrospect the long labour day weekend was pretty darn awful. No, not because one is supposed to stop wearing white gloves and white pumps after labour day, nor the change from gay straw boaters to more formal chapeaux. Not even because the barbecue set is shoved back into the closet now that the season is over, and the children sent off to some beer and pizza drenched college town where they will probably engage in risky sex for the next nine months.

As you know, I do not have children.
And you've probably guessed that I do not wear white gloves or pumps.
I live in San Francisco, so both barbecuing and straw hats have never been part of the programme, precisely like the gloves or pumps.


I spent a total of four and a half hours in the bath, and 19 hours at the office.


In both cases, I was by myself.


You might not think so, but this blogger is a surprisingly social person.
Even in the bath. I can make room.
There have been better weekends.



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