Today was a beautiful day. It’s really starting to feel like springtime around here. Springing forward on Sunday and the gorgeous sunshine seems to have put everyone in good spirits. It’s finally time to ditch the winter coats, and there’s almost nothing better in the world than walking along the ocean and feeling the sun for the first time in months!
I know this sounds uncharacteristic of me, since I tend to hibernate indoors during the summer. Don’t worry, it won’t last long, this enthusiasm for warm weather. I’ll be back to sulking about heat stroke and skin cancer before June, guaranteed. I can’t stay out in the sun for more than 10 minutes without frying like a lobster. My family calls me mean things like “fish belly white” and “vampire child”…all in good fun, of course. Soon I’ll be tucked away inside my lair, nursing the wicked sunburn I got while walking from my house to my car.
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| Me today |
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| Me in July |
This afternoon as I was walking home from class, enjoying the day and the Mumford and Sons album that I can’t stop listening to, I saw the strangest thing. I don’t know where he came from or what was really going on, but I was walking up the hill to my apartment and a guy in a chef’s uniform blew past me, yelling something in French to someone that I couldn’t see. It’s a pretty steep hill, and that little man in white ran all the way to the top in about ten seconds flat like it was nothing. Then he disappeared around a corner.
Ever since, I’ve been wondering what had happened to cause the chef to bolt like that…maybe they ran out of flour and he was running to get some? We know how the French love their bread! Maybe he cut his finger while julienning some carrots or something and really needed a band aid? No bleeding allowed in the salad niçoise!
My favorite made up scenario is that the guy just freaked out like that air steward on Jet Blue last year. Rather than the typical French "go on strike until we get what we want" method, he opted for something with a little more flavor (bad pun?). Instead of the dramatic exit via the emergency slide, the chef decided to run rampant through the windy back roads of Vieux Nice, a carving knife in one hand and a baguette in the other. He didn’t actually have a baguette, but I really wish he did. That would have made for a really great story…
I have the perfect memory of us in Cancun lounging on the beach. Your mother and me soaking up the sun, and you hidden under a make-shift tent with just enough opening to reach out for the cocktail brought by the hotel waiter! LoL.... Good times, and the zinc oxide on your nose while we sped over the Caribbean toward the reef! We do have fond memories of your sun aversion.
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