I really should be studying the role of Raymond Dart in taphonomy and the development of domestication, but why would I want to do that when I could be writing? My nose, fingers, and feet are in a somewhat frozen state, which means I have a warm blanket over me and a steaming cup of tea at my side. And I'm watching A Christmas Story by the light of my Christmas tree. It's the one with the boy who just wants a Red Rider BeeBee Gun for Christmas. Really, how could those things not mix for the perfect inspiration?
Not that I have anything particularly brilliant to share. Rather, I have some un-brilliant but very "me" moments to share. Like yesterday afternoon. It was snowing all day, resulting in the perfect snow for snowballs and snowmen. So what did I do?
I built a snowman with Flat Stanley. Because that is what all cool people spend their snowy, Tuesday afternoons doing.
After this I went to my last Victorian Literature class of the semester. I bought myself a delicious-looking, hot apple cider during the break, made it back to class, sat down, and before I could even take one sip, I dumped the entire cup on my leg and the floor. Nothing too serious, just a slightly tender leg and dirty pair of jeans. Oh, and the loss of whatever remnants of pride I had. Because nothing humbles you quicker than spilling a hot drink on yourself in front of a room full of people.
But all that is behind me, for a friend is coming over tonight and we shall watch Bridget Jones' Diary... because nothing solves hurt pride like a good Christmas movie... particularly one with Colin Firth...
...in a smashing Christmas sweater!
Such is the life of a Christian single.
Not that I have anything particularly brilliant to share. Rather, I have some un-brilliant but very "me" moments to share. Like yesterday afternoon. It was snowing all day, resulting in the perfect snow for snowballs and snowmen. So what did I do?
I built a snowman with Flat Stanley. Because that is what all cool people spend their snowy, Tuesday afternoons doing.
After this I went to my last Victorian Literature class of the semester. I bought myself a delicious-looking, hot apple cider during the break, made it back to class, sat down, and before I could even take one sip, I dumped the entire cup on my leg and the floor. Nothing too serious, just a slightly tender leg and dirty pair of jeans. Oh, and the loss of whatever remnants of pride I had. Because nothing humbles you quicker than spilling a hot drink on yourself in front of a room full of people.
But all that is behind me, for a friend is coming over tonight and we shall watch Bridget Jones' Diary... because nothing solves hurt pride like a good Christmas movie... particularly one with Colin Firth...
...in a smashing Christmas sweater!
Such is the life of a Christian single.
Love your snowman! Our snow is gone, sigh, so I can't take the girls out to make one.
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