Since I’ve been staring at this text box for half an hour and nothing comes to mind, I will use what is right in front of me as inspiration. If you could look through my eyes you would think I might start writing about a very cute butt, but let’s just assume that I am approaching this blogging process with a certain degree of seriousness.
Our friend ( last week I was referring to her as my wife’s schoolmate but I think I can safely consider her my friend now) has been one of the most unique visitors we’ve ever had in our home before. I met H several times when we were all much younger and we never really spoke; I just hung around while she and my (then) girlfriend happily chirped away about who knows what. She didn’t seem interested in getting to know me at all, probably believing P was only with me as a moment of weakness. Because of this, I was not expecting to have a very nice visit with H, and thought it would be difficult given our busy schedules.
I stand corrected. H has been a joy to have around; so much fun, never complaining, figuring out ways to accommodate touristy things around our schedule. She tells us how happy we all seem and what a wonderful little life we’ve built, which made us feel great. She has been brutally honest about not liking some of the food I’ve prepared for her. Of course, that has never happened before, people love my cooking, but I appreciate the honesty, even if it just demonstrates an undeveloped palette. (Me, bitter?)
At the moment she is slaving away in the kitchen for the second night in the row so we can have some home-cooked Polish food to heat up after she is gone. I wish I had a better handle of poetry so I could accurately describe the olfactory sensations I’m experiencing. I suppose I could help her, but she seems to only want me to refill our glasses when they run low. I might have been overzealous in my pours as she just dropped can of tomato paste onto the floor; well I guess I should get that…..