Tuesday of oddities
Yesterday, I went to lunch at Fazoli's with a coworker. I got the spaghetti with meat sauce, and got my drink for 50 cents because of my latent knowledge of the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. (Fazoli's has a daily trivia question.)
At 6ish, I decided to check out a writers group I'd heard about, that meets at Barnes & Noble. Only, I forgot the right notebook, so had to start a new story idea. There was a guy near our group at a table, looking at a coffee table sized art book of photographic nudes. He held it about three inches from his flushed face. I couldn't tell if he was just nearsighted and very awkward, or if he was getting off on it. Or some combination thereof.
Around 8ish, I went over to the Runcible Spoon, to join in a French-language speaking group that I just found out about, that apparently meets there every Tuesday. I discovered that I have forgotten a LOT - or at least that I've lost a lot of expressive language. My receptive skills were a little rusty, but I could follow about 90% of what was being said.
I came home and did not do laundry.
At 6ish, I decided to check out a writers group I'd heard about, that meets at Barnes & Noble. Only, I forgot the right notebook, so had to start a new story idea. There was a guy near our group at a table, looking at a coffee table sized art book of photographic nudes. He held it about three inches from his flushed face. I couldn't tell if he was just nearsighted and very awkward, or if he was getting off on it. Or some combination thereof.
Around 8ish, I went over to the Runcible Spoon, to join in a French-language speaking group that I just found out about, that apparently meets there every Tuesday. I discovered that I have forgotten a LOT - or at least that I've lost a lot of expressive language. My receptive skills were a little rusty, but I could follow about 90% of what was being said.
I came home and did not do laundry.