The Cure

To cure my moral hangover, I went shopping this morning. I bought two pair of trousers, wonderful boots and terribly expensive strawberries (I guarantee these aren’t for Strawberry Margaritas). Now I feel awful spending too much money, not on the clothes but on the terribly expensive strawberries, and have almost forgotten all about my moral hangover.

The changing room was full of clothes when I wanted to try on the pants so I asked the shop assistant, fat and ugly girl, to remove them. She got very irritated that I asked her to do her job and was demonstratively throwing around the clothes. I had to tell her that there is no need to get mad at me, and that she should try to live up to the cliché that fat people are glad people.

Later I saw a guy in very tiny shorts. It is 10 degrees outside! I love socializing with total strangers so I just had to ask him what he is wearing when it is 30 degrees outside. I never found out what he is wearing in warm weather, but I found out that he is a sailor, has lived in Greenland, has been sailing in Finnish shore waters, and gets very sick when drinking Finnish snaps. When people find out that I am a Finn, they always have a story to tell. The other day the cab driver turned out to be an international judge in weight lifting and was going to attend Nordic Championships in Finland next week, and yesterday the guys at the jazz band I had hired for the architects entertained me with a Finnish song they know. Well, I know this syndrome all too well. I can sing a song in Greek and whenever I meet a Greek, I just have to demonstrate this special skill. I can make a fool out of myself in any language I guess!