I think we're officially an old married couple. It was gay pride yesterday (even though they kind of have two pride events spaced two weeks apart) and instead of going down to view the parade, we stayed home in air conditioned comfort. I checked in on the live feed a few times only to see the same tired dance floats and drag queens and more importantly, the sweating hordes of spectators. Hot plus crowded plus pricey drinks equals stay home. Another pleasure in life, like Christmas, has been dulled through the tried and true method of repetition. It's like every joy experienced is on a kind of pendulum with each subsequent swing's force slightly diminished, until finally, the pendulum swings no more. This reminds me that we didn't even dance once on the last cruise we went on. Old.
I have been getting in inordinate amount of pleasure from the pink gladiolas I bought. I feel like they are shouting, "Hey, over here, check out our pink festoonage," every time I come into that room. Plus they were only 7 bucks for 10 stems. Such a deal.
Did y'all see Em's comment yesterday? She doesn't understand why people are letting themselves believe the blatant lies that are being told, why people are not outraged that the public option is being taken off the table. She gave phone numbers and stuff too, so if you believe in actually changing the system, have a look and contact your congressman/woman.
Serge and I went out for breakfast yesterday to our fave little bistro to have the bagel au trou, which is a bagel with an egg fried in each hole of each half of the bagel and then topped with spinach cream cheese. It wasn't as delicious as the very first time I've had it, but the pleasure deterioration has been quite minimal. Damn good. It is such a laid back place too. I couldn't believe the waiter was wearing flip-flops. Flip flops! Maybe at a beach bar, but not in a restaurant with glassware and other sundry hot and sharp objects. The folly. Or maybe I'm just old and crotchety.