This tells you everything about me
Absolutely everything
mysticmhorag had been off in the wilds of the Hebrides and was about to start wending her long and weary way home and I sent her a text to tell her to buy a certain financial paper, and not ask why, just do it.
Later that evening I had the new mobile charging and it rang, I dashed in to answer it, ended up almost garrotting myself on the charger cord as I fumbled for the button that lets me talk (I'm still having trouble with the concept of pushing the button with the green PHONE on it - duh!) and I saw it was my Scottish Sister Seer reporting in, just as I ended up cutting the call off :(
When we finally got to talk for real there she is telling me the trouble she went to try and get the paper. The local island shop closed before she got there, all the shops and petrol stations on her arduous trek didn't even know why the heck anyone would want to buy a financial paper, so why the heck should they stock it, luv? Or words to that effect *G*. She's busy cursing me the entire horrific journey home (detours, delays, tornados, what have you), and she's 5 minutes from home pulling in to the local shop for a bottle of milk and there is a single lone copy of the very paper I ordered her to get.
You know what? She bought it! I canna believe it either. If I'd have been her by then I would have drop-kicked it out the doorway I'd have been so peeved. But Mhorag is a lovely wee lassie (hang on that doesn't sound right, she doesn't look a bit like Lassie! much shorter fringe for a start), and obviously much too nice to say no to strange friends who do not explain themselves.
She opens the paper, finds the bright orange supplement I described, opens it up and discovers I did have a really good reason for sending her on a quest for her own copy of the paper.
So, you're all dying to know what dark secret, what racy sexual article I'm trying to get her to read, right?
Um ... brace yourselves ...
It was a TOTALLY AWESOME article on some of the world's most original and unusual BOOKSHOPS!
Uh huh! I sent her out in the wilds, and the storm, and the snow in search of an article about bookshops.
Yeah, you're all sitting back in your desk chairs now having a good giggle at how sad I am aren't you?
Oh, but if you read this article, and saw the pictures - bookshops in old churches, and converted palaces from the Netherlands to South America. Bookshops that look like the inside of a Faberge egg. Bookshops to die for!!!!!
And you know what makes me even more tragic? (Yes, it gets worse).
I'm still on the phone to her long distance as we both excitedly pore over own own copies of the article, both mutually going "Oooh, pretty!" And I go, "I wish I could teleport!"
Do you want to know why I suddenly wished I could teleport? Was it to jump into a bank vault and become illegally rich (a la the atrocious movie "Jumper" which ruined a great book), or to suddenly be in Cannes or Hollywood mingling with the beautiful people, or on a perfect beach somewhere, or on the set of SPN (huh should have thought of that then!)?
No. I wished to be able to teleport so I could zap myself to each and every one of those bookstores.
Uh huh. There, as I said that sentence tells you absolutely everything you really need to know about me, and sums me up completely (and very, very sadly).
*sniffs tearily*
And you know what's worse? My wish didn't come true!
*sighs mournfully and tacks the article up above my desk where I can at least look at my idea of heaven every day*
Darn, guess this explains exactly why I'm single.
So, now I've completely scared you (and scarred you all for life), and procrastinated long enough, my fingers are now limber enough to go back to the nun fic . . .
mysticmhorag had been off in the wilds of the Hebrides and was about to start wending her long and weary way home and I sent her a text to tell her to buy a certain financial paper, and not ask why, just do it.
Later that evening I had the new mobile charging and it rang, I dashed in to answer it, ended up almost garrotting myself on the charger cord as I fumbled for the button that lets me talk (I'm still having trouble with the concept of pushing the button with the green PHONE on it - duh!) and I saw it was my Scottish Sister Seer reporting in, just as I ended up cutting the call off :(
When we finally got to talk for real there she is telling me the trouble she went to try and get the paper. The local island shop closed before she got there, all the shops and petrol stations on her arduous trek didn't even know why the heck anyone would want to buy a financial paper, so why the heck should they stock it, luv? Or words to that effect *G*. She's busy cursing me the entire horrific journey home (detours, delays, tornados, what have you), and she's 5 minutes from home pulling in to the local shop for a bottle of milk and there is a single lone copy of the very paper I ordered her to get.
You know what? She bought it! I canna believe it either. If I'd have been her by then I would have drop-kicked it out the doorway I'd have been so peeved. But Mhorag is a lovely wee lassie (hang on that doesn't sound right, she doesn't look a bit like Lassie! much shorter fringe for a start), and obviously much too nice to say no to strange friends who do not explain themselves.
She opens the paper, finds the bright orange supplement I described, opens it up and discovers I did have a really good reason for sending her on a quest for her own copy of the paper.
So, you're all dying to know what dark secret, what racy sexual article I'm trying to get her to read, right?
Um ... brace yourselves ...
It was a TOTALLY AWESOME article on some of the world's most original and unusual BOOKSHOPS!
Uh huh! I sent her out in the wilds, and the storm, and the snow in search of an article about bookshops.
Yeah, you're all sitting back in your desk chairs now having a good giggle at how sad I am aren't you?
Oh, but if you read this article, and saw the pictures - bookshops in old churches, and converted palaces from the Netherlands to South America. Bookshops that look like the inside of a Faberge egg. Bookshops to die for!!!!!
And you know what makes me even more tragic? (Yes, it gets worse).
I'm still on the phone to her long distance as we both excitedly pore over own own copies of the article, both mutually going "Oooh, pretty!" And I go, "I wish I could teleport!"
Do you want to know why I suddenly wished I could teleport? Was it to jump into a bank vault and become illegally rich (a la the atrocious movie "Jumper" which ruined a great book), or to suddenly be in Cannes or Hollywood mingling with the beautiful people, or on a perfect beach somewhere, or on the set of SPN (huh should have thought of that then!)?
No. I wished to be able to teleport so I could zap myself to each and every one of those bookstores.
Uh huh. There, as I said that sentence tells you absolutely everything you really need to know about me, and sums me up completely (and very, very sadly).
*sniffs tearily*
And you know what's worse? My wish didn't come true!
*sighs mournfully and tacks the article up above my desk where I can at least look at my idea of heaven every day*
Darn, guess this explains exactly why I'm single.
So, now I've completely scared you (and scarred you all for life), and procrastinated long enough, my fingers are now limber enough to go back to the nun fic . . .