Sì, mi chiamano Mimi

I have listened to Mimi dying of tuberculosis hundreds of times (my constant urge for romance, drama and death bring me often to the world of Puccini), and I have never questioned the cause of her death. But now I wonder, was it really tuberculosis; the symptoms are very similar to swine flu.

In lack of anything more important to do, I have spent the whole day at the office wondering about this. At home Houellebecq, Pamuk and French grammar must wait while I am desperately reading the libretto for La Bohème; was Mimi at some point in contact with pigs?



(With my my constant urge for romance, drama and death, well, I could also have settled with a life as an opera singer. Dying in the arms of José Cura, what a wonderful Mimi I could have been.)

La vie est belle, or is it?

A couple of bad choices and you have to work the rest of your life. Even on a sunny Sunday like today, life sucks big time!

I was supposed to have a life playing tennis, drinking champagne and dancing to Au café des delices.

Au café des délices
envoyé par cvera

101 ways to get rid of your husband

It was neither ambulance nor fire squad that arrived, but the police force. I told them that my husband likes to make practical jokes pretending to be a little girl and calling 112. The police took my husband with them.

Still, I might have a boring life but my fantasy will always have a life of its own.



PS. Being so interested in history, I guess my husband wouldn’t mind sharing the destiny with Robespierre.

One good reason to give your kids a sim card to your old mobile phone

Then they could also ring to their grandparents and not only the lady at 112. Now I am just waiting to see if it is an ambulance or fire squad who will arrive in a minute or two.

Selling husbands ….

…wasn’t that easy. I put an ad “Lazy middle-aged husband for sale” on internet, nobody reacted. Then I substituted “lazy middle-aged” with “Black Jewish” and right away I got many interested buyers.

Now I just wait and see who is willing to pay most, Hitlerjugend or Ku Klux Klan. I guess I have to circumcise my husband before sending him over to his new masters, but the black part… Hm, I just write No return right.

Morning crisis

This morning after trying on 5 different blouses, I was on the edge of crying. No matter what I tried on, it looked just awful on me (I am not really fat; it is the clothes that make me look fat). My husband does anything to avoid my hysteria and said:

“Bla, bla bla, you are beautiful with anything on. Son, isn’t mom a beautiful girl?”
“No dad, mom is a beautiful lady!”

I am going to buy that Wii to my son, no matter what. I will sell my husband if I have to.



(Or is it the mirror that makes me look fat?)

Sono italiana come...

My husband is sure my coffee date meant I am Italian in a Vito Corleone way.