Despite my frequent Scandinavian heritage-based claims that cold weather suits me best, I do have a soft spot in my heart for days like these last few. Sunday was far too nice to spend indoors, so without much thought I made myself a salad, grabbed a newspaper, and ate lunch in my backyard. Several minutes later, I froze mid-bite at the realization that I am, in fact, sitting in the garden and eating a salad(?!) while reading the Sunday New York Times. What the hell. When did I stop acting like a 14-year old?
I mentioned this crisis of identity to a friend (of similar age) over IM yesterday, who responded that she had spent her Sunday at a playground. Naturally.
In the course of the conversation, she described a piece of playground equipment that I couldn't quite understand. Excusing herself for a few moments ("brb"), she soon sent me a detailed graphical representation of what she was talking about:
L., thank you. There is hope for this world yet.
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