This was the blog of an Eloise wannabe and her 2 roustabout kitties as they work on a book deal in the City of Lights, giggling all the way. Now it's the blog of an Eloise wannabe planning her next escape (California, Canadia?) with 2 other kitties--still working, still giggling.
First, we have 3 non-blondes: 
At the back is today's gorgeous birthday girl, my mum's cousin Merri, and in front are my brother and mother. Of course, they're naturally blond, and I'm naturally L'Oréal Récital Rouge Foncé. One of nature's endless mysteries. (Oh, and yeah, must I mention that Merri's daughter is Mad Cuz Jacqui, who happens to be a hairdresser.)
I've braved the chilly morning once more with orange Birkenstocks and a white kurta, Nature's Gate sunblock slathered on in the hopes of enticing summer to come out and play. I swear to God, last year's summer (and all my lovely visitors: Tamara, Keris, Narissa, Tim, Beth & family) feels like a decade ago. I swooned with delight to get up at 6.30 this morning to see a faint glow filtering in through the bathroom window. Soon, please, soon! Oh yeah, it's not helping that I'm listening to this all-disco station out of LA, and they keep playing Donna SUMMER.
Which reminds me: That bloody frog with a blog (aka the fabulously gorgeous Mickelino) has dared, nay, ordered me to send him an audio sample of me singing. Obviously he has no inkling of what he's let himself in for. I'm trying to decide: Don't Cry Out Loud, Take It To The Limit, or something Kylie. Suggestions?
Grateful that the work compadres have rallied. Yes, I'll admit it, I'm a total SOOK when it comes to hospitals. The last time I was in, I was 21 and had to have a sunspot removed from my lip. I'm still wondering why I agreed to general anaesthetic for that one--actually, I probably asked for it, because I can't bear the thought of someone operating on me when I'm awake--because it really knocked me around. But that night there was a party going on at home, with the mad McKechnies*, and my stepfather making his world's best (I don't care if you think yours is, his was!) spag bog, and I was determined to be there. So I blubbered until the hospital staff let me go. It wasn't just the party, it was my own bed, I just wanted to be in my own bed. The thought of having to be in a French hospital scares me more than the thought of an op, and so I'm ever so thrilled that some of my French colleagues have offered to come with me when I'm admitted and visit to make sure it's all okay. And an American colleague has offered to pic me up some undies from Victoria's Secret so I can feel extra sexy as I hobble around on crutches with my ass sticking out of the hospital gown. Who loves ya, baby!!
*Spelling, Mum?
Fun stuff: Meg Cabot's a wonderful writer and she's posted a funny entry about her arrival in Germany. And this one's for you, Antipo (you, too, Stella!). I know you love people who post pics of fluffy kittens to their blogs ;-)
