DBW and I have been contemplating making a weekend break to Dublin for a while, now.
So, on our way back from the Bloggy Friday, when she reminded me that Aer Lingus‘s “special offers” would expire last night at 24:00 and that we would absolutely have to book our flights before that deadline if we wished to stand a chance to save a couple of cents, my stomach started cringing, the saliva in my throat was instantly lyophilized before I uttered the fatal words that had been haunting my soul ever since she had mentioned the idea:
Remember when we traveled to Brugges last year? And you insisted we fly separately? So that we would reduce the chance of reducing the kids to orphans by 50%? If you (or I) crash? With the plane? And…like…die?
There was silence in the car.
Complete with a deadly look which could only suggest that I would be immediately better off if I could instantly organize a one-way teleport to the nether world.
Followed by a typical woman-like
We’re not going to Dublin. Or Marrakech.
More deep silence ensued…
To which I countered with a feeble
Blablabla-airline safety records-blabla-fatal crashes-blabla-driving along-blabla-maniacs on the road-blabla-when is the last time we actually had a fatal crash-blabla-see: told you-blabla.
DBW must REALLY need a break: Dublin is booked, Marrakech: pending!
I must admit that I was rather anxious about attending this evening’s Bloggy Friday in Zürich.
Not that I’m not used to leaving the house by myself, mind you. I actually drive in to work twice a week and DBW sometime even lets me go shopping alone.
I simply wasn’t sure what to expect: would an Anglo-Saxon blog be welcome amidst a myriad germanophone ones? Would we have anything in common, apart from templates and plugins? Would I be the only one without an iPhone?
I’ll be back!
And might even take ol’ Bricciola with me if she behaves next time!
I very rarely remember my dreams.
Come 06:00 my eyes instantly open upon a brand new day, my brain fresh and uncluttered with meaningless experiences I may have collected during my virtual peregrinations through the shadows of night. Said brain then kicks in approx. one hour and 27 minutes later, but that’s another story altogether..
So imagine my surprise when I sat up in bed yesterday and the faint imprint of a tenebrous recollection wavered through my mind: I could still catch the glimpse of…a rabbit. A big white bl**dy bunny!
My nocturnal companion could have been a fire-spitting dragon or a cunning leprechaun. Or maybe even a loosely-clad wench. But for once that I was actually able to reminisce SOMETHING (let alone ANYTHING), it was not to be: a rabbit it was.
“Must be a symbol”, I thought, “must mean something totally emblematic; a sign, a signal sent to me from the profoundness of my subconscious”.
So I went and looked it up:
“To see a rabbit in your dream, signifies luck, magical power, and success. You have a positive outlook on life. Alternatively, rabbits symbolize abundance, warmth, fertility and sexual activity.”
Golly! “Magical power“! I knew it! And that in conjunction with “sexual activity“?!? Hey, wow!!!! But as DBW was brushing her teeth at that very moment, I continued my research..
And then I saw it: had the fluffy-one been hopping around? Even just a little bit? On one leg, maybe? Because if it had then:
“To see rabbits hopping, signifies fertility and that children will bring you much joy.”
Bugger: it was a fable after all!!!
That ANYONE should manage such a shot is pretty damn good.
That ANYONE should manage it during the third set of a grand slam semi-final is awesome.
But to turn it into a passing shot and gain a match ball as well?
Can you imagine the endless “creative” discussions until this one was approved?
NB: An “alle” meine deutschsprachige Leser: der Uebersetzungs-Knopf wird Euch hier leider nicht weiter helfen..