Best Lives

My Dear Princess, Loulou and Fellows,

Today went much better than I could have hoped. 

1. Project Bumpaddle is now being delayed indefinitely for reasons not to do with me, which kind of makes me bitter about ALL THE EFFING PRESSURE but hey and

2. It was Fazzy's post-Ramadan lunch yaaaaaay!

I'd booked the lunch ages ago so that I could take Fazzy for a hot chocolate at the best hot chocolate place in Wellington* once she was finished with her fast. 

It was just so nice hanging out with Gromit and her team again. Gromit is very excited about my imminent return to the fold and has promised me a champagne breakfast next Monday. So today felt like weight lifting, finally. 

And Nate the Solution Architect told us a story about his time in Bangkok (he's worked all over Asia). He was talking with a woman at a bar and she was so attractive that he started to get suspicious. 

Fortunately, he is a personable fellow and the woman he was with was surprisingly forthcoming so she told him, "I'll let you into a little secret."

"Oh yes?" said Nate.

"The absolute, one hundred per cent foolproof way you can tell the difference between a woman and a trans woman is to check out her skin."

"Really?" said Nate.

"You see, women have all those hormonal cycles to deal with and it plays havoc with the skin. Whereas trans women are on a stable cocktail of hormones and so they shine."

Nate looked over his new friend. "Your skin is BEAUTIFUL," he commented.

The woman looked coyly at him. "I know, right?" was all she said. 

I'm not sure where the story went from there. But as he is a happily married man I shall assume to tea and biscuits and nothing else. 

As for Dave, he is living his best life in this picture. He is really not much more than a kitten. I would estimate under a year old and he LOVES to play. Whenever he comes into our house he makes a beeline straight to the toy basket, filled with things in which our boys no longer have much interest.

As you can see, Dave LOVES it. He takes things out of the basket and goes trotting happily across the floor with them, so we can play with him. And then he throws himself about with abandon before collapsing into a sleepy orange furry heap on the floor. 

I feel like I can enjoy him again now. Stress is a bastard and I'm so glad I'm returning to normal. 

S.

* "Scopa" on Cuba Street, apparently.