The cats always beg for my cereal, but I don't feel good about giving them cow's milk. So I put down some goat's milk this morning and they seem to really like it. I'm so glad goat's milk is available in cans! But speaking of cow's milk, a gallon cost me $3.44 the other day. Christ! Why is Coke cheaper than milk?
I lived in New Zealand for a couple of years a while back, and one of my cow-irkers pronounced milk "mauwk." I couldn't help it, I think I snickered a little. Not from derision, I just thought it was funny. Lots of little differences when you go to another English-speaking country, especially in the Commonwealth. [Disclaimer: I have never been to Canada, although I would love to go.] The English and those of English descent are somewhat more particular than Americans when it comes to everyday courtesies. I think I was considered rude and abrupt, even though if you ask anyone who knows me now, they'd probably say I'm very courteous and polite. But over there, I guess they expound upon it. If I was asked to do something in the office, I'd reply, "Sure," and be done with it, you know, I didn't say, "Oh yes, if you please, I'd be quite happy to perform this task," etc. etc. blah blah blah. Whatever. There was a lot of unspoken stuff that I didn't catch on to. Some things I did figure out, like, call a table napkin a serviette; a napkin over there is strictly for feminine protection. Overall, in the day-to-day and especially at the workplace, I sensed that Americans weren't well-liked (although, as one person pointed out, "it could have just been you"). Well, shee-it, in light of recent events, they must love us now!
Ironically, although most Kiwis are English in origin, they don't really care for the Brits. They call them "poms," which stands for something I can't remember anymore. In a good-natured, ribbing kind of way, Brits are often called "pommie wankers," or something similar. Must have been great for my ex, a Brit, to come to the States where women fall to their knees and worship the English accent. Little do they realize how common he truly is. Well, that's no longer my problem.
I was feeling my breasts this morning in bed* and I realized that they're getting smaller. I think I'll have to go down a bra size. So long, B-cup! Well, that's okay; it's not like I was doing anything with them anyway, and if they're small they'll be less likely to sag later. Years ago I had a friend with an enormous rack who used to make fun of my little tits. Finally I told her, "Yeah, but when we're 50, yours will be hanging around your belly-button and mine will still be right up here where they belong." That shut her up.
* "If I were a woman, I'd stay home and feel my breasts all day." --Steve Martin, L.A. Story
By the way, I've had two Coke-free days in a row, except day-before-yesterday I had a chocolate malt, but still.
I guess that's it for now. My agenda today is to do some dolly painting and pluck my chin whiskers.
4:00
Newman is crashed out on my lap and he's so precious that I can't get up and disturb him. Now that they're getting older, they're not as affectionate as they used to be.
posted by Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive) @ 2:15 PM
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